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Uriij^Huil  t'ugruviti^  Ijy  G.  Vertne. 


A    HISTORY 


OF 


ENGLISH    LITERATURE 


BY 


F.    V.    N.    PAINTER,    A.M.,  D.D. 

Professor  of  Modern  Languages  and  Literature  in  Roanoke  College, 

Author  of  "  A  History  of  Education,"  "  Introduction  to  English 

Literature,"  "  Introduction  to  American  Literature,"  etc. 


-ooJOJc 


SIBLEY    &    COMPANY 
BOSTON  CHICAGO 


Copyright,  1899, 
By   SIBLEY  &  DUCKER. 


Nortooot)  ^rcss 

J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith 

Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


Srlitratcti  to 
MR.  ORLANDO   LEACH 


PREFACE 

This  book  is,  in  the  main,  an  expansion  of  the  text  of 
the  author's  "Introduction  to  English  Literature."  The 
historical  surveys  and  the  biographical  and  critical  sketches 
are  more  extended,  and  nearly  twice  as  many  authors  are 
treated  at  length. 

The  large  number  of  authors  treated  has  prevented  the 
use  of  illustrative  extracts  other  than  those  given  in  the  bio- 
graphical and  critical  sketches.  It  is  expected  that  the 
book  will  be  supplemented  by  the  reading  or  careful  study 
of  complete  masterpieces,  the  selection  of  which  is  left  to 
the  judgment  of  the  teacher. 

This  work  traces  the  course  of  English  literature  in  its 
organic  development.  It  presents  a  survey  of  the  whole 
'field,  and  reveals  to  the  student  the  position  and  relations 
of  the  great  English  writers.  The  use  of  separate,  unre- 
lated texts,  without  such  a  comprehensive  survey,  results 
in  fragmentary  and  unsatisfactory  knowledge. 

Considerable  attention  has  been  given  to  the  historical 
and  social  conditions  that  largely  determine  the  character 
of  literature.  The  influence  of  race,  epoch,  and  surround- 
ings has  been  clearly  pointed  out  ;  and  thus,  not  only  the 
history,  but  also  the  philosophy,  of  English  literature  has 
been  in  a  measure  presented. 

This  work  is  intended  to  be,  not  a  cyclopaedia  of  EngHsh 
literature,  but  a  practical  text-book.  In  the  judgment  of 
thoughtful  teachers  this  fact  will  justify  the  omission  of 
many  names  which  would  serve  only  to  confuse  and  bur- 
den the  student's  memory.  It  is  believed  that  as  many 
authors  have  been  treated  at  length  as  can  be  profitably 


Vi  PREFACE 

studied  in  our  schools  and  colleges.  For  the  sake  of 
greater  completeness,  a  list  of  less  important  writers, 
together  with  their  principal  works,  is  prefixed  to  each 
period. 

It  is  hoped  that  the  comparatively  full  and  sympathetic 
treatment  of  the  great  English  authors  will  tend  to  awaken 
interest  in  literature,  and  give  a  clearer  insight  into  its 
nature  and  beauty.  Unusual  prominence  has  been  given 
to  the  writers  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

As  an  aid  to  many  teachers  and  students,  a  list  of  some 
of  the  best  and  most  accessible  books  relating  both  to  the 
general  subject  of  English  literature  and  to  particular 
authors  has  been  given  in  an  appendix.  Not  a  few  refer- 
ences have  been  given,  also,  to  magazine  and  review  arti- 
cles of  special  interest  or  value.  As  nearly  all  of  these 
works  have  been  used  in  the  preparation  of  the  present  vol- 
ume, the  writer  wishes  to  refer  to  them  as  his  authorities. 

It  is  hoped  that  the  list  of  books  appended  as  a  general 
guide  for  reading  will  prove  acceptable  to  a  large  number 
of  students.  It  is  designed  to  include  only  such  books 
as  have  gained,  by  reason  of  some  excellence  or  other, 
a  noteworthy  or  permanent  place  in  English  literature. 
Many  admirable  books  have  been  omitted ;  for,  with  so 
great  an  abundance  of  literary  treasures,  the  effort  has 
been,  not  to  extend,  but  to  shorten  the  list. 

The  author  and  publishers  wish  to  express  their  great 
indebtedness  to  Mr.  Frederick  Keppel,  of  New  York  City, 
for  the  use  of  his  large  collection  of  authentic  and  finely 
executed  portraits.  It  is  believed  that  the  literary  map  and 
the  numerous  illustrations  will  add  much  to  the  interest  and 
usefulness  of  the  book. 

F.  V.  N.  PAINTER. 
Salem,  Va., 
December  26,  1899. 


CONTENTS. 

INTRODUCTION. 

Literature  in  its  largest  sense  —  National  literature  —  English 
literature  —  Its  excellence  —  Moulding  influences  —  Race  — 
Epoch  —  Environment  —  Personal  elements  —  Literature  in  a 
narrower  sense  —  Importance  of  literature  —  As  a  social  force 

—  Literary  taste  —  Periods  of  English  literature     . 

I. 

OLD   ENGLISH   OR   ANGLO-SAXON    PERIOD. 
(500-1066.) 

English  language  composite  —  Original  inhabitants  of  British  Isles 

—  Roman  conquest — Anglo-Saxon  invasion — Character  of 
Anglo-Saxons  —  Their  religion  —  Missionary  work  of  Au- 
gustine—  Influence  of  Christianity  —  Education  —  Aicuin  — 
Bede  —  Anglo-Saxon  language  —  Different  dialects  —  Poetry 
and  gleemen  —  Principle  of  Anglo-Saxon  poetry — Its  char- 
acteristics —  Value  of  Anglo-Saxon  literature  —  C^edmon, 
"■  Beowulf  ■'  —  Other  poems  —  Alfred  the  Great 

II. 

MIDDLE   ENGLISH    OR   FORMATIVE   PERIOD. 

(1066-1400.) 

Limits  of  period  —  Normans  —  Their  character  —  Norman  Con- 
quest—  Modern  English  —  Social  condition  of  England  — 
Existing  evils  —  Literary  development  —  Esteem  for  learning 

—  Trouvcre  poetry  —  •"•  Chanson   de    Roland  "  —  Arthurian 

vii 


PAGE 


VI 11  CONTENTS. 


cycle  —  Italian  influence  —  History,  romance,  religion  — 
"  Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle  "  —  Latin  Chronicles  —  Lyrical  poe- 
try —  Layamon's  "  Brut "  —  Robert  of  Gloucester  —  Robert 
Manning  —  Wycliffe  —  Ormin  —  Langland  —  Gower — Geof- 
frey Chaucer    


in. 

FIRST    CREATIVE  OR   ELIZABETHAN  PERIOD. 

(1558-1625.) 

Interest  of  period  —  Barren  era  after  Chaucer  —  Revival  of  learn- 
ing—Inventions—  Caxton  and  the  printing-press  —  The 
Reformation  —  Condition  of  England  —  Elizabeth's  character 

—  General  progress  —  Influence  on  thought  and  character  — 
Pre-Elizabethan  literature  —  Old  ballads  —  Thomas  More  — 
Earl  of  Surrey  — Sir  Thomas  Wyat  —  Elizabethan  outburst 
of  literature  —  Ascham — Lyly — Sidney — Hooker — Raleigh 

—  Elizabethan  lyrics — Sackville,  Daniel,  Drayton  —  Origin 
of  drama  — Miracle  plays  — Moralities  — First  comedy  and 
tragedy  —  Theatres  —  Minor  dramatists  —  Ben  Jonson  — 
Edmund  Spenser  —  Francis  Bacon  —  William  Shake- 


speare 


PAGE 


31 


67 


IV. 

CIVIL  WAR   OR   PURITAN   PERIOD. 

( 1 625-1 660.) 

Puritan  ascendency  — Civil  and  religious  conflicts  —  PoHcy  of 
Charles  I.  — Petition  of  Right  — Bad  advisers  of  king  — 
fiouse  of  Commons  —  Independents  —  Voluntary  exiles  — 
Civil  War  —  The  commonvi'ealth  —  Puritanism  unfavorable  to 
literature  —  Decay  of  drama  —  Jeremy  Taylor  —  Earl  of 
Clarendon  —  Baxter  —  Isaak  Walton  —  "  Metaphysical  poets  " 

—  Johnson's  criticism  —  Edmund  Waller  —  Abraham  Cowley 

—  John  Milton  -John  Bunyan 153 


CONTENTS.  IX 

V. 

FIRST   CRITICAL   OR    QUEEN    ANNE   PERIOD. 

(1660-1745.) 

PAGE 

Puritan  extreme  —  Reaction  —  French  influence  —  Natural  sci- 
ence —  Transition  —  Greater  toleration  —  Deism  —  Augustan 
Age  —  English  influence  —  Social  condition  —  Woman  — 
Witchcraft  —  Rise  of  Methodism  —  Reading  public  —  Clubs 

—  Periodicals  —  Diarists,  Evelyn  and  Pepys  —  John  Locke  — 
Steele  —  Rise  of  the  novel  —  Defoe  —  Richardson  —  Fielding 

—  Samuel  Butler  —  James  Thomson  —  Edward  Young  — 
John  Dryden  —  Joseph  Addison  —  Alexander  Pope  — 
Jonathan  Swift 195 

VI. 
AGE   OF   JOHNSON. 

(1745-1800.) 

Characteristics  of  period  —  Transition  —  Brotherhood  of  man  — 
Declaration  of  Independence  —  Democratic  tendencies  — 
Advancing  intelligence  —  Newspapers  —  Moral  and  religious 
improvement  —  Philanthropy  —  England  a  world-power  — 
Results  on  English  character  —  Oratory  —  Pitt,  Burke  —  His- 
torical writing  —  Hume,   Robertson  —  Romantic   movement 

—  Effects  —  Humanity  —  Nature  —  Samuel  Johnson  —  Oli- 
ver Goldsmith  —  Edward  Gibbon  —  William  Cowper 

—  Robert  Burns 273 

VII. 
AGE   OF   SCOTT. 

(1800-1832.) 

Favorable  political  conditions  —  Triumphs  of  democracy  —  Periods 
not  sharply  defined  —  Eff'ect  of  French  Revolution  —  Growing 
intelligence  —  Periodicals  —  Critics  :  Jeff"rey,  Hazlitt.  Lamb, 
Wilson,    Lockhart  —  History:     Hallam,    Mitford  —  Promi- 


X  CONTENTS. 

PAGH 

nence  of  women  —  Ann  Radcliffe  —  Maria  Edofeworth  — 
Jane  Austen  —  Poetry  —  Thomas  Campbell  —  John  Keats  — 
Robert  Southey  —  Thomas  Moore  —  Sir  Walter  Scott — 
Lord  Bvron  —  William  Wordsworth  —  Samuel  Tay- 
lor Coleridge — Percy  Bysshe  Shelley — Thomas  De 
QUINCEY 367 

VIII. 

VICTORIAN   AGE. 

(1832- I 900.) 

Grandeur  of  the  age  —  Inventions  —  Notable  era—  Scientific  in- 
vestigation —  Practical  tendencies  —  Educational  advance- 
ment—  Periodical  press — International  relations  —  Political 
progress  —  Social  improvement — Religion  and  philanthropy 

—  Creative  and  diffusive  literature  —  Essay  writing  —  History 

—  Fiction  —  Realism  and  romanticism  —  Poetry  —  Thomas 
Babington  Macaulay  — Charlotte  Bronte'  — William 
Makepeace  Thackeray — Charles  Dickens  —  George 
Eliot  —  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning  —  Robert 
Browning  —  Alfred  Tennyson  —  Thomas  Carlyle  — 
Matthew  Arnold  —  John  Ruskin 473 

APPENDIX. 

Literary  Map  of  England     ....        Facing  page  671 

Books  of  Reference 671 

Books  Worth  Reading 683 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Portrait  of  Chaucer       ..... 

Portrait  of  Spenser,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 
Portrait  of  Bacon,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 
Portrait  of  Shakespeare,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 
Inscriptions  ...... 

The  Mary  Arden  Cottage      .... 

Stratford  on  Avon 

Portrait  of  Milton,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 
Portrait  of  Bunyan,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 
Portrait  of  Dryden,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 
Portrait  of  Addison,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 
Portrait  of  Pope,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 
Portrait  of  Swift,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 
Portrait  of  Johnson,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 
Portrait  of  Goldsmith,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 
Portrait  of  Gibbon,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 
Portrait  of  Cowper,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 
Portrait  of  Burns,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 
The  Tarn  O'  Shanter  Inn      .... 

The  Auld  Brig  o'  Doon         .... 

Portrait  of  Scott,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 
Ellen's  Isle  ....... 

Scott's  Tomb        ...... 

Portrait  of  Byron,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 
Portrait  of  Wordsworth,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 


Frontispiece 

FACING    PAGE 

136 

144 

167 
181 

240 
258 
288 
302 

349 
360 

365 
383 
389 
396 
397 
410 


XI 


Xll 


ILL  USTRA  TIOXS. 


Grasmere     ........ 

The  Poet's  Seat 

Portrait  of  Coleridge,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 

Greta  Hall 

Portrait  of  Shelley,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 

Portrait  of  De  Quincey,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 

Portrait  of  Macaulay,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 

Portrait  of  Bronte,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 

Portrait  of  Thackeray,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 

Portrait  of  Dickens,  with  facsimile  of  autograph    . 

Gadshill  —  Home  of  Dickens        .... 

Portrait  of  Eliot,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 

Portrait  of  Browning  (E.  B.),  with  facsimile  of  autograph 

Portrait  of  Browning  (Robert),  with  facsimile  of  autograph 

House  in  which  Browning  died,  Venice 

Portrait  of  Tennyson,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 

Tennyson's  Walk  at  Farringford  . 

Portrait  of  Carlyle,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 

Carlyle's  Monument      ..... 

Portrait  of  Arnold,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 

Fox  How — the  Arnold  Home 

Portrait  of  Ruskin,  with  facsimile  of  autograph 

Brantwood  —  Ruskin's  Home 

Literary  map  with  index        .... 


FACING    PAGE 
416 

418 

425 

437 
442 

459 
488 

504 

519 

535 

542 

552 
568 

585 
601 
603 
617 
622 
636 

639 

640 

656 
669 

Between  670  a)id  671 


HISTORY  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 


INTRODUCTION. 

Literature  in  its  largest  sense  —  National  literature  —  English  litera- 
ture —  Its  excellence  —  Moulding  influences  —  Race  —  Epoch  — 
Environment  —  Personal  elements  —  Literature  in  a  narrower  sense 
—  Importance  of  literature  —  As  a  social  force  —  Literary  taste  — 
Periods  of  English  literature. 

In  its  largest  sense,  literature  includes  all  the  written 
records  of  man.  It  presents  the  thoughts,  emotions,  and 
achievements  of  the  human  family.  Its  vast  extent  ren- 
ders it  absolutely  impossible  for  any  person  to  become 
acquainted  with  more  than  a  very  small  part  of  it.  The 
greatest  libraries  of  the  world  now  contain  more  than 
a  million  volumes,  to  which  thousands  are  added  every 
year. 

This  general  or  universal  literature  is  made  up  of 
national  literatures.  A  national  literature  is  composed  of 
the  literary  productions  of  a  particular  nation.  After 
reaching  a  state  of  civilization,  every  nation  accumulates 
a  body  of  writings  that  express  the  thoughts,  feelings,  and 
achievements  of  its  people.  Thus  we  have  the  literature 
of  Greece,  of  Rome,  of  Germany,  of  England,  and  of  other 
nations,  both  ancient  and  modern. 


2  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

English  literature  embraces  the  writings  of  the  people 
of  Great  Britain.  It  covers  a  period  of  about  twelve  hun- 
dred years ;  and  five  hundred  years  ago  it  had  in  Chaucer 
one  of  the  world's  great  writers.  It  shares  in  the  greatness 
of  the  English  people.  It  combines  French  vivacity  with 
German  depth ;  and  in  its  scope,  variety,  and  excellence 
it  is  second  to  no  other.  No  department  of  literature  has 
been  left  uncultivated.  Poets  have  sung  in  sweet  and 
lofty  strains ;  novelists  have  portrayed  every  phase  of 
society ;  orators  have  convinced  the  judgment  and  moved 
the  heart ;  scientists  have  revealed  the  laws  of  the  physi- 
cal world ;  historians  have  eloquently  told  of  the  past ; 
and  philosophers  have  deeply  pondered  the  mysteries  of 
existence. 

This  literature  is  a  heritage  in  which  all  English-speak- 
ing people  may  feel  a  just  pride.  It  is  a  subject  to  which 
they  should  give  careful  study.  It  embodies  the  best 
thought  and  the  noblest  feeling  of  the  English  people ; 
and  an  acquaintance  with  it  leads  not  only  to  greater 
breadth  of  culture,  but  also  to  a  profounder  insight  into 
English  history  and  English  character.  Standing  in  close 
relation  to  us,  it  naturally  possesses  a  deeper  interest  than 
the  literature  of  any  other  country. 

Literature  is  influenced  or  determined  by  whatever 
affects  the  thought  and  feeling  of  a  people.  Among  the 
most  potent  influences  that  determine  the  character  of  a 
literature  are  7'ace,  epoch,  and  siirroiindi)igs.  This  fact 
should  be  clearly  understood,  for  it  renders  a  philosophy 
of  literature  possible.  We  cannot  fully  understand  any 
work  of  literature,  nor  justly  estimate  its  excellence,  with- 
out an  acquaintance  with  the  national  traits  of  the  writer, 


INTRODUCTION.  3 

the  general  character  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived,  and 
the  physical  and  social  conditions  by  which  he  was  sur- 
rounded. The  relation  between  literature  and  history  is 
very  intimate. 

The  human  family  is  divided  into  several  races,  which 
are  distinguished  from  one  another  by  different  physical 
and  mental  characteristics.  The  Caucasian  is  clearly  dis- 
tinguishable from  the  African,  not  only  by  his  fairer  skin 
and  straighter  hair,  but  also  by  his  superior  intellectual 
powers.  Within  the  same  race  we  discover  similar,  though 
less  clearly  marked,  differences.  Apart  from  noticeable 
physical  differences,  the  Teuton,  with  his  serious,  reflec- 
tive, persistent  temper,  is  quite  unlike  the  Celt,  with  his 
vivacity,  wit,  and  ready  enthusiasm.  No  two  nations  are 
exactly  alike  in  form  and  in  mind.  These  differences, 
wherever  found,  are  naturally  reflected  in  hterature,  which 
is  the  expression  of  the  life  of  the  soul. 

Every  age  has  its  peculiar  interests,  culture,  and  ten- 
dencies. With  the  ancient  Jewish  nation,  religion  was  a 
predominant  interest.  In  the  "Elizabethan  Age,  culture 
was  far  more  general  than  at  the  period  of  the  Norman 
Conquest.  The  present  century  is  characterized  by  its 
democratic  tendencies.  Whatever  may  be  the  epoch,  its 
peculiarities  will  inevitably  be  reflected  in  its  literary  pro- 
ductions. An  acquaintance  with  the  general  character  of 
an  age  gives  a  deeper  insight  into  its  literature. 

The  third  formative  influence  in  literature  is  environ- 
ment or  the  prevailing  physical  and  social  conditions.  The 
literature  produced  in  the  presence  of  a  sterile  soil  and 
rigorous  climate  is  different  in  tone  and  color  from  that 
produced  in  the  midst  of  fruitful  fields  and  under  sunny 


4  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

skies ;  and,  in  like  manner,  its  quantity  and  quality  are 
affected,  to  a  greater  or  less  degree,  by  a  state  of  war  or 
peace,  intelligence  or  ignorance,  wealth  or  poverty,  free- 
dom or  persecution. 

But  it  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  race,  epoch,  and  sur- 
roundings will  explain  everything  in  literature.  There  is 
a  personal  element  of  great  importance.  From  time  to 
time,  men  of  great  genius  appear,  and  rising  by  native 
strength  high  above  the  level  of  their  age,  become  centres 
of  a  new  and  mighty  influence  in  literature.  This  truth  is 
exemplified  by  Homer  in  Greece,  Luther  in  Germany,  and 
Chaucer  in  England,  each  of  whom  exerted  an  incalcula- 
ble influence  upon  the  subsequent  literary  development  of 
his  country. 

The  word  literature,  which  up  to  this  point  has  been 
used  in  its  large,  general  sense,  has  also  a  restricted  mean- 
ing, which  it  is  important  to  understand,  and  with  which 
we  are  principally  concerned  in  this  work.  In  any  liter- 
ary production  we  may  distinguish  between  the  thoughts 
that  are  presented,  and  the  manner  in  which  they  are  pre- 
sented. We  may  say,  for  example,  "The  sun  is  rising;" 
or,  ascending  to  a  higher  plane  of  thought  and  feeling, 
we  may  present  the  same  fact  in  the  language  of 
Thomson :  — 

"But  yonder  comes  the  powerful  King  of  Day, 
Rejoicing  in  the  east.     The  lessening  cloud, 
The  kindling  azure,  and  the  mountain's  brow 
Illumed  with  fluid  gold,  his  near  approach 
Betoken  glad." 

It  is  thus  apparent  that  the  interest  and  value  of  litera- 
-ture  are  largely  dependent  upon  the  manner  or  form  in 


INTRODUCTION.  5 

which  the  facts  are  presented.  In  its  restricted  sense, 
literature  includes  only  those  works  which  are  polished  or 
artistic  in  form.  Poetry,  fiction,  essays,  and  oratory  are 
its  principal  forms,  though  history  and  scientific  treatises 
often  reach  an  excellence  that  makes  them  literature  in  the 
narrower  sense.  The  classic  works  of  a  literature  are 
those  which  present  ideas  of  general  and  permanent  inter- 
est in  a  highly  finished  or  artistic  manner. 

The  importance  of  literature,  both  in  its  larger  and  its 
narrower  sense,  can  hardly  be  over-estimated.  Books  are 
the  treasure-houses,  in  which  the  intellectual  riches  of  all 
past  ages  have  been  permanently  stored.  Literature  is 
our  principal  means  of  acquiring  a  knowledge  of  the 
achievements  of  our  race,  and  of  rising  to  the  highest 
plane  of  intellectual  and  spiritual  culture.  By  means  of 
literature  we  reach  beyond  the  narrow  limits  of  our  own 
life  and  experience,  and  appropriate  the  best  intellectual 
and  spiritual  results  of  all  ages  and  all  civilized  peoples. 

Literature  is  a  great  force  in  the  world.  "Books,"  as 
Milton  said,  "  are  not  absolutely  dead  things,  but  do  con- 
tain a  potency  of  life  in  them  to  be  as  active  as  that  soul 
was  whose  progeny  they  are ;  nay,  they  do  preserve  as  in 
a  vial  the  purest  efficacy  and  extraction  of  that  living  in- 
tellect that  bred  them.  I  know  they  are  as  lively,  and  as 
vigorously  productive,  as  those  fabulous  dragon's  teeth ; 
and  being  sown  up  and  down,  may  chance  to  spring  up 
armed  men."  Many  of  the  great  religious,  social,  and 
political  movements  of  the  Christian  era  have  stood  in 
close  relation  to  literature.  The  Christian  church  to-day 
owes  its  development  and  character  chiefly  to  the  writings 
of  the  New  Testament.     The  great  intellectual  movement 


6  •       ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

of  the  fifteenth  century,  to  which  we  give  the  name  of 
Renaissance,  was  largely  due  to  a  revived  study  of  the 
literary  treasures  of  ancient  Greece.  The  American  and 
French  revolutions  at  the  close  of  the  last  century  owed 
their  origin  and  vitality,  in  no  small  degree,  to  the  views 
of  human  rights  previously  promulgated  in  the  writings  of 
a  few  clear-sighted  patriots  and  philosophers ;  and  to-day 
the  power  of  literature  is  so  generally  recognized  that 
every  party,  sect,  or  organization  deems  it  necessary  to 
have  its  printed  organ,  and  to  promulgate  its  views 
through  tracts  and  books. 

It  is  not  easy  to  acquire  the  literary  taste  that  is  satisfied 
only  with  what  is  excellent  in  thought  and  expression. 
Good  taste  in  literature  is  a  combination  of  adequate 
knowledge,  delicate  feeling,  and  sound  judgment.  It  goes 
hand  in  hand  with  general  culture.  Natural  gifts  facili- 
tate its  acquirement,  but  in  every  case  it  is  the  result  of 
extensive  reading  and  careful  study.  The  guiding  hand 
of  a  competent  teacher  is  at  first  almost  indispensable. 
Our  great  writers,  almost  without  exception,  serve  a  long 
apprenticeship.  As  in  the  acquisition  of  language,  it  is 
necessary  to  begin  with  what  is  simple  and  easy.  We 
rise  to  the  mountain  summits  of  thought  and  feeling, 
as  to  the  summit  of  the  Alps,  by  slow  and  laborious 
steps. 

The  history  of  English  literature,  following  the  devel- 
opment of  the  English  language,  may  be  divided  into  three 
general  periods :  — 

I.  The  Old  English  or  Anglo-Saxon  Period,  extending 
approximately  from  500  to  1066  a.d.,  the  date  of  the  Nor- 
man Conquest.     The  literature  of  this  period  is  written  in 


INTR  OD  UC  TION.  J 

Old  English  or  Anglo-Saxon,  with  very  little  admixture 
with  other  languages. 

2.  The  Middle  English  or  Formative  Period,  extending 
approximately  from  1066  to  1400,  the  date  of  Chaucer's 
death.  This  period  is  characterized  by  the  loss  of  Old 
English  inflections,  and  by  the  introduction  of  a  large 
French  element  through  the  Norman  Conquest. 

3.  The  Modern  English  Period,  extending  approxi- 
mately from  1400  to  the  present  time.  It  is  characterized 
by  the  fixed  forms  of  our  expanded  language,  and  by  its 
varied  and  unsurpassed  literature.  It  is  subdivided,  as 
will  be  hereafter  noted,  into  several  subordinate  periods, 
according  to  the  literary  or  social  movements  of  the  time. 


y 


OLD  ENGLISH  OR  ANGLO-SAXON  PERIOD. 


REPRESENTATIVE   WRITERS. 

Poetry. 

Caedmon  (f  680) . 
Author  of  '•  Beowulf." 

I  Prose. 

1 
Alcuin  (735-804).  ■ 

Bede  (673-735). 

Alfred  the  Great  (849-901). 


I. 

OLD    ENGLISH    OR  ANGLO-SAXON   PERIOD. 

(500-1066.) 

English  language  composite  —  Original  inhabitants  of  British  Isles  — 
Roman  conquest  —  Anglo-Saxon  invasion  —  Character  of  Anglo- 
Saxons —  Their  religion  —  Missionary  work  of  Augustine  —  Influ- 
ence of  Christianity  —  Education  —  Alcuin  —  Bede  —  Anglo-Saxon 
language  —  Different  dialects  —  Poetry  and  gleeman  —  Principle  of 
Anglo-Saxon  poetry  —  Its  characteristics  —  Value  of  Anglo-Saxon 
literature  —  Caedmon,  "  Beowulf  "  —  Other  poems  —  Alfred  the 
Great. 

The  English  nation,  like  the  English  language,  is  com- 
posite. The  principal  element  in  both,  coming  chiefly 
from  the  Angles  and  Saxons,  is  Teutonic.  Through  the 
native  population  of  the  British  Isles  —  Britons,  Scotch, 
and  Irish  —  there  has  gradually  been  introduced  a  Celtic 
element.  The  Danes,  who  in  the  ninth  century  estab-- 
lished  themselves  in  England  and  were  afterward  ab- 
sorbed, strengthened  the  Teutonic  element.  Through  the 
Norman  Conquest,  in  the  eleventh  century,  a  further  Cel- 
tic element  was  introduced.  The  infusion  of  this  Celtic 
strain  into  the  sturdier  Teutonic  stock  has  been  peculiarly 
fortunate,  imparting  to  the  English  character  a  greater 
delicacy  of  feeling  and  a  finer  poetic  sensibility.  The 
greatness  of  English  literature  is  due,  in  no  small  measure, 

to  this  happy  admixture  of  Teutonic  and  Celtic  elements. 

II 


12  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

The  original  inhabitants  of  the  British  Isles,  within  his- 
toric times,  were  Celts  —  a  part  of  the  first  great  Aryan 
wave  that  swept  over  Europe.  In  a  portion  of  Great  Brit- 
ain, —  in  Ireland,  Scotland,  and  Wales,  —  the  Celtic  ele- 
ment is  still  very  strong.  The  Celts  are  a  vigorous  people, 
adhering  to  their  national  customs  with  great  tenacity. 
They  possess  a  lively  imagination,  delicate  feeling,  and  a 
ready  enthusiasm.  They  seem,  however,  to  be  lacking  in 
the  power  of  strong  political  organization ;  and  this  defect 
made  them  a  prey,  first  to  Roman,  and  later  to  Teutonic, 
invaders. 

The  Romans  under  Caesar  invaded  Britain,  55  B.C.,  and 
partly  subdued  it.  In  the  following  century  Agricola  ex- 
tended the  Roman  conquest  over  the  territory  now  in- 
cluded in  England,  and  reduced  Britain  to  a  Roman 
province.  Towns  were  built ;  military  roads  were  con- 
structed ;  Roman  law  was  administered ;  Christianity  was 
introduced ;  and  a  considerable  commerce  was  developed. 
Corn  was  exported,  and  the  tin  mines  of  Cornwall  were 
worked.  But  the  native  population,  unlike  what  had 
taken  place  in  Gaul  and  Spain,  remained  unassimilated 
to  the  empire,  and  still  clung,  in  large  measure,  to  its  lan- 
guage and  customs.  When,  after  some  four  hundred 
years,  the  Roman  forces  were  withdrawn,  the  Latin  lan- 
guage, with  the  exception  of  a  very  few  words,  disappeared 
entirely.  The  principal  relics  of  this  Roman  occupation 
surviving  in  our  language  to-day  is  the  word  street  (from 
the  Latin  strata  via,  a  paved  way),  and  the  words  caster, 
cester,  and  Chester  (from  the  Latin  castra,  camp)  in  the 
names  of  places ;  as,  Lancaster,  Worcester,  and  Win- 
chester. 


OLD  ENGLISH  OR  ANGLO-SAXON  PERIOD.  1 3 

After  the  withdrawal  of  the  Roman  legions  in  the  fifth 
century,  Britain  was  invaded  by  the  Angles,  Saxons,  and 
Jutes  —  Teutonic  tribes  that  inhabited  Schleswig,  Jutland, 
and  adjacent  territory  on  the  Continent.  The  beginning 
of  this  invasion  is  usually  dated  from  449,  the  year  in 
which  Hengist  and  Horsa,  according  to  the  Anglo-Saxon 
Chronicle,  landed  on  the  shores  of  Kent.  The  invading 
Teutons,  hated  for  their  cruelty  and  their  heathenism, 
were  stubbornly  resisted  by  the  native  Celts,  and  it  was 
nearly  a  hundred  years  before  the  Britons  were  finally 
driven  back  into  Cornwall  and  Wales.  They  slowly  re- 
tired, as  did  the  American  Indians  in  this  country,  with- 
out assimilation ;  and  beyond  a  few  names  of  places,  they 
left  scarcely  any  trace  in  our  language.  The  Saxons 
occupied  the  south,  and  the  Angles  the  north  and  centre 
of  Britain ;  and  to  the  latter,  who  were  the  more  numer- 
ous, belongs  the  honor  of  giving  to  the  country  its  modern 
name  of  England  —  a  word  signifying  the  land  of  the 
Angles. 

In  the  character  of  these  Teutonic  tribes  are  to  be 
found  the  fundamental  traits  of  the  English  people  and  of 
English  literature.  In  their  continental  home  they  led  a 
semi-barbarous  and  pagan  life.  The  sterile  soil  and  dreary 
climate  fostered  a  serious  disposition,  and  developed  great 
physical  strength.  Courage  was  esteemed  a  leading  vir- 
tue, and  cowardice  was  punished  with  drowning.  No  other 
men  were  ever  braver.  They  welcomed  the  fierce  excite- 
ment of  danger  ;  and  in  rude  vessels  they  sailed  from  coast 
to  coast  on  expeditions  of  piracy,  war,  and  pillage.  Laugh- 
ing at  storms  and  shipwrecks,  these  daring  sea-kings  sang  : 
"  The  blast  of  the  tempest  aids  our  oars ;  the  bellowing 


14  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

of  heaven,  the  howling  of  the  thunder  hurts  us  not ;  the 
hurricane  is  our  servant,  and  drives  us  whither  we  wish  to 
go." 

With  an  unconquerable  love  of  independence,  they  pre- 
ferred  death  to  slavery.  Refined  tastes  and  delicate  in- 
stincts were  crushed  out  by  their  inhospitable  surroundings  ; 
and  their  pleasures,  consisting  chiefly  of  drinking,  gam- 
bling, and  athletic  sports,  were  often  coarse  and  repulsive. 
Yet  under  their  coarsest  enjoyment  we  discover  a  sturdy, 
masculine  strength.  They  felt  the  presence  of  the  mys- 
terious forces  of  nature,  and  deified  them  in  a  colossal 
mythology.  Traces  of  their  religion  are  seen  in  the  names 
of  the  days  of  the  week.  Wednesday  is  Woden's  day, 
the  god  of  war  and  the  guardian  of  ways  and  boundaries ; 
Thursday  is  Thor's  day,  the  god  of  thunder  and  storm ; 
Friday  is  Frea's  day,  the  goddess  of  peace,  joy,  and  fruit- 
fulness.  Eostre,  the  goddess  of  dawn  and  of  spring,  lends 
her  name  to  the  festival  of  the  Resurrection.  With  these 
Teutons  the  sense  of  obligation  and  duty  was  strong ;  and 
having  once  pledged  fidelity  to  a  leader  or  cause,  they  re- 
mained loyal  to  death.  They  honored  women  and  revered 
virtue.  In  a  word,  they  possessed  a  native  seriousness, 
virtue,  and  strength,  which,  ennobled  by  Christianity  and 
refined  by  culture,  raised  their  descendants  to  an  eminent 
position  among  the  nations  of  the  earth. 

The  Anglo-Saxon  invasion  swept  away  the  British 
church  which  had  been  established  under  Christian  Rome. 
A  reign  of  paganism  was  once  more  introduced,  and  held 
sway  for  a  hundred  and'fifty  years.  Then  occurred  an 
event  that  changed  the  character  of  English  history.  In 
597  Gregory,  who  filled  the  papal  chair  at  Rome,  sent  St. 


OLD  ENGLISH  OR  ANGLO-SAXON  PERIOD.  1 5 

Augustine  with  a  band  of  missionaries  to  labor  among  the 
Anglo-Saxons.  While  yet  an  abbot,  Gregory's  interest 
had  been  awakened  by  the  fair  faces  and  flaxen  hair  of  a 
group  of  Saxon  youths  exposed  for  sale  in  the  slave-market 
at  Rome.  "Who  are  they.?"  he  asked.  "Angles,"  was 
the  reply.  "  It  suits  them  well,"  he  said,  "  with  faces  so 
angel-like.  From  what  country  do  they  come  .-*  "  "  From 
Deiri,"  said  the  merchant.  "■  De  ira!''^  exclaimed  the 
pious  monk,  "then  they  must  be  delivered  from  the  wrath 
of  God.  What  is  the  name  of  their  king  }  "  "  Aella,"  he 
was  told.  "  Aella  !  "  he  replied,  seizing  on  the  word  as  of 
good  omen,  "then  shall  Alleluia  be  sung  in  his  land." 

Augustine  proceeded  to  Kent,  where  he  was  kindly  re- 
ceived by  Ethelbert.  The  king  had  married  Bertha,  a 
Frankish  princess  of  Christian  training,  through  whose 
influence  his  pagan  prejudices  had  been  largely  overcome. 
When,  by  means  of  interpreters,  Augustine  had  set  forth 
the  nature  of  Christianity  in  a  lengthy  address,  the  king 
said :  "  Your  words  and  promises  are  very  fair ;  but  as 
they  are  new  to  us,  and  of  uncertain  import,  I  cannot 
approve  of  them  so  far  as  to  forsake  that  which  I  have 
so  long  followed  with  the  whole  English  nation.  But 
because  you  are  come  from  far  into  my  kingdom,  and,  as 
I  conceive,  are  desirous  to  impart  to  us  those  things  which 
you  believe  to  be  true  and  most  beneficial,  we  will  not 
molest  you,  but  give  you  favorable  entertainment,  and  take 
care  to  supply  you  with  your  necessary  sustenance ;  nor 
do  we  forbid  you  to  preach  and  gain  as  many  as  you  can 
to  your  religion."  ^ 

1  Latin,  meaning  '••from  the  wrath." 

2  Bede,  "  Ecclesiastical  History,"  Bk.  I.  chap.  xxv. 


1 6  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

The  missionaries  took  up  their  residence  at  Canterbury. 
Christianity  made  rapid  progress.  Within  a  year  from  the 
landing  of  Augustine  upon  the  shores  of  Kent,  Ethelbert 
and  thousands  of  his  people  became  Christians.  Mission- 
ary zeal  carried  the  new  religion  to  other  parts  of  Eng- 
land. Edwin,  the  powerful  king  of  Northumbria,  was  led 
to  call  a  council  for  the  purpose  of  considering  its  adop- 
tion. An  aged  ealderman  arose  and  spoke  as  follows : 
"  So  seems  life,  O  King,  as  a  sparrow's  flight  through  the 
hall  where  a  man  is  sitting  at  meat  in  winter-tide  with  the 
warm  fire  lighted  on  the  hearth,  but  the  chill  rain-storm 
without.  The  sparrow  flies  in  at  one  door  and  tarries 
for  a  moment  in  the  light  and  heat  of  the  hearth-lire, 
and  then  flying  forth  from  the  other,  vanishes  into  the 
wintry  darkness  whence  it  came.  So  tarries  for  a  moment 
the  life  of  man  in  our  sight,  but  what  is  before  it  and  what 
after  it,  we  know  not.  If  this  new  teaching  tell  us  aught 
certainly  of  these,  let  us  follow  it." 

The  native  seriousness  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  character 
offered  a  favorable  soil  for  the  growth  of  Christianity. 
The  gospel  was  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  needs  of  this  peo- 
ple. In  restraining  brutal  pleasures,  inculcating  benevolent 
affections,  and  promoting  intellectual  culture,  it  supplied 
what  was  wanting  in  Enghsh  character,  and  imparted 
an  element  essential  to  the  highest  development  of  the 
national  life.  England  was  once  more  brought  in  line 
with  the  highest  European  civilization ;  and  the  culture, 
arts,  and  sciences  that  had  fled  before  the  pagan  con- 
querors returned  with  Christianity. 

Education  followed  in  the  wake  of  Christianity.  The 
cathedral  and  monastic  schools  became  the  principal  edu- 


OLD  ENGLISH  OR  ANGLO-SAXON  PERIOD.  1/ 

cational  agency.  The  course  of  instruction  embraced  the 
so-called  seven  liberal  arts,  —  grammar,  logic,  rhetoric, 
arithmetic,  geometry,  astronomy,  and  music,  —  to  which 
seven  years  were  devoted.  Latin,  the  language  of  the 
church,  was  made  the  basis  of  education,  and  nearly  all 
instruction  had  a  theological  or  ecclesiastical  aim.  The 
great  body  of  the  people  remained  illiterate,  and  even 
kings  were  sometimes  unable  to  write  their  names.  Their 
energies  were  absorbed  in  almost  continual  wars  and  in  the 
stern  struggle  to  gain  a  livelihood ;  and  under  these  con- 
ditions it  is  needless  to  say  that  beyond  ecclesiastical  or 
monastic  circles  literature  hardly  existed. 

In  this  period  England  had  its  share  of  ecclesiastical 
scholars,  among  whom  were  Alcuin  and  Bede.  The  home 
of  the  former  was  at  York,  one  of  the  principal  centres  of 
culture,  where  in  ']66  he  became  master  of  the  cathedral 
school.  Afterward  he  went  to  the  Continent,  residing  at 
the  court  of  Charlemagne.  He  reorganized  the  palace 
school,  and  afterward  undertook  to  reform  the  system  of 
education  throughout  the  emperor's  dominions.  His  nu- 
merous writings  were  occupied  chiefly  with  theology  and 
education.  He  wrote  a  number  of  text-books,  and  in  the 
preface  of  one  of  them  he  warmly  commends  study  :  "  Oh 
ye,  who  enjoy  the  youthful  age,  so  fitted  for  your  lessons, 
learn !  Be  docile.  Lose  not  the  day  in  idle  things. 
The  passing  hour,  like  the  wave,  never  returns  again. 
Let  your  early  years  flourish  with  the  study  of  the 
virtues,  that  your  age  may  shine  with  great  honors. 
Use  these  happy  days.  Learn,  while  young,  the  art  of 
eloquence,  that  you  may  be  a  safeguard  and  defender  of 
those  whom  you  value.     Acquire  the  conduct  and  man- 


1 8  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

ners  so  beautiful  in  youth,  and  your  name  will  become 
celebrated  through  the  world.  But  as  I  wish  you  not  to 
be  sluggish,  so  neither  be  proud.  I  worship  the  recesses 
of  the  devout  and  humble  breast." 

In  a  poem  on  the  "  Saints  of  the  Church  of  York," 
Alcuin  pays  a  beautiful  tribute  to  yElbert,  his  predeces- 
sor as  master  of  the  cathedral  school,  who,  after  instruc- 
tion in  the  liberal  arts,  led  his  students  to  the  Scriptures :  — 

"  Then,  last  and  best,  he  opened  up  to  view 
The  depths  of  Holy  Scripture,  Old  and  New. 
Was  any  youth  in  studies  well  approved, 
Then  him  the  master  cherished,  taught,  and  loved ; 
And  thus  the  double  knowledge  he  conferred 
Of  liberal  studies  and  the  Holy  Word." 

Bede  may  be  justly  regarded  as  the  father  of  Eng- 
lish prose.  From  an  interesting  autobiographical  sketch 
at  the  close  of  his  "  Ecclesiastical  History,"  we  learn  the 
leading  events  in  his  unpretentious  life.  He  was  born  in 
673,  near  the  monastery  of  Jarrow  in  northern  England. 
As  pupil,  deacon,  and  priest,  he  passed  his  entire  life  in  that 
monastic  institution.  The  leisure  that  remained  to  him 
after  the  faithful  performance  of  his  various  official  duties, 
he  assiduously  devoted  to  learning;  for  he  always  took 
delight,  as  he  tells  us,  "in  learning,  teaching,  and  writ- 
ing." He  was  an  indefatigable  worker,  and  wrote  no 
less  than  forty-five  separate  treatises,  including  works  on 
Scripture,  history,  hymnology,  astronomy,  grammar,  and 
rhetoric,  in  which  is  embodied  all  the  learning  of  his  age. 

His  scholarship  and  aptness  as  a  teacher  gave  celebrity 
to  the  monastic  school  at  Jarrow,  which  was  attended  at 
one  time  by  six  hundred  monks  in  addition  to  many  secu- 


OLD  ENGLISH  OR  ANGLO-SAXON  PERIOD.  1 9 

lar  students.  His  fame  extended  as  far  as  Rome,  whither 
he  was  invited  by  Pope  Sergius,  who  wished  the  benefit 
of  his  counsel.  He  led  an  eminently  simple,  devout,  and 
earnest  life.  He  declined  the  dignity  of  abbot,  lest  the 
duties  of  the  office  might  interfere  with  his  studies.  As  a 
writer  he  was  clear,  succinct,  and  artless.  His  "  Ecclesi- 
astical History,"  which  was  composed  in  Latin,  is  our 
chief  source  of  information  in  regard  to  the  early  Anglo- 
Saxon  church.  The  credulity  he  exhibits  in  regard  to 
ecclesiastical  miracles  was  characteristic  of  his  time. 

His  pupil  Cuthbert  has  left  us  a  pathetic  account  of  his 
death.  Industrious  to  the  last,  he  was  engaged  on  an 
Anglo-Saxon  version  of  St.  John.  It  was  Wednesday 
morning,  the  27th  of  May.  One  of  his  pupils,  who  was 
acting  as  scribe,  said  to  him :  "  Dearest  master,  there  is 
still  one  chapter  wanting ;  do  you  think  it  troublesome  to 
be  asked  any  more  questions  }  "  He  answered  :  "  It  is  no 
trouble.  Take  your  pen  and  write  fast."  In  the  after- 
noon he  called  his  friends  together,  distributed  a  few  sim- 
ple gifts,  and  then  amidst  their  tears  bade  them  a  solemn 
farewell.  At  sunset  his  scribe  said  :  "  Dear  master,  there 
is  yet  one  sentence  not  written."  He  answered :  "  Write 
quickly."  "  It  is  finished  now,"  said  the  scribe  at  last. 
"  You  have  spoken  truly,"  the  aged  scholar  repHed  ;  "  it  is 
finished.  Receive  my  head  into  your  hands,  for  it  is  a 
great  satisfaction  to  me  to  sit  facing  the  holy  place  where 
I  was  wont  to  pray."  And  thus  on  the  pavement  of  his 
little  cell,  in  the  year  735,  he  quietly  passed  away  with  the 
last  words  of  the  solemn  chant,  "  Glory  be  to  the  Father, 
and  to  the  Son,  and  to  the  Holy  Ghost." 

Thus  closed  the  life  of  the  first  great  English  scholar. 


20  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Not  inaptly  did  later  ages  style  him  the  Venerable  Bede. 
"  First  among  English  scholars,  first  among  English  theo- 
logians, first  among  English  historians,  it  is  in  the  monk 
of  Jarrow  that  English  literature  strikes  its  roots.  In  the 
six  hundred  scholars  who  gathered  round  him  for  instruc- 
tion, he  is  the  father  of  our  national  education.  In  his 
physical  treatises  he  is  the  first  figure  to  which  our  science 
looks  back.'!  ^ 

The  Old  English  or  Anglo-Saxon,  which  was  first  re- 
duced to  writing  after  the  establishment  of  Christian 
schools,  belongs  to  the  Aryan  or  Indo-European  group  of 
languages.  The  other  principal  members  of  this  group, 
besides  the  Teutonic  branch  to  which  the  Anglo-Saxon 
belongs,  are  the  Indie,  the  Iranic,  the  Hellenic,  the  Italic, 
the  Celtic,  and  the  Slavonic.  They  all  sprang  originally 
from  the  same  mother-tongue,  the  home  of  which  is  com- 
monly supposed  to  have  been  central  Asia.  Their  rela- 
tionship is  clearly  estabhshed  by  the  substantial  identity 
of  many  words  and  grammatical  forms.  The  following 
diagram  shows  the  relative  age  and  remoteness  from  each 
other  of  these  different  branches  or  classes,  together  with 
the  dates  of  their  earliest  literary  records  :  — 


A.  Aryan  or  Indo-European  Stock. 

1.  Indie,  Sanskrit  Vedas,  1500  B.C. 

2.  Iranic,  Bactrian  Avesta,  1000  B.C. 

3.  Hellenic,  Greek,  800  B.C. 

4.  Italic,  Latin,  200,  B.C. 

5.  Teutonic,  Gothic  Bible,  fourth  century, 

6.  Celtic,  eighth  century. 

7.  Slavonic,  Bulgarian  Bible,  fourth  century. 

8.  Anglo-Saxon,  eighth  century. 


1  Green,  "  History  of  the  English  People,"  Vol.  i. 


OLD   ENGLISH  OR  ANGLO-SAXON  PERIOD.  21 

The  Anglo-Saxon  belongs  to  the  Teutonic  branch  of  the 
Aryan  family,  and  is  closely  related,  on  the  one  hand, 
to  German,  and  on  the  other  to  Scandinavian.  It  is  an 
inflected  language  with  four  cases.  In  England  it  was 
divided  into  four  dialects, — the  Northumbrian,  the  Mer- 
cian, the  Kentish,  and  the  West  Saxon.  Most  of  our 
Anglo-Saxon  remains  are  in  the  West  Saxon  dialect, 
though  it  is  from  the  Mercian,  which  was  spoken  in 
central  England,  that  modern  English  is  most  directly 
derived.  The  Lord's  Prayer  in  Anglo-Saxon,  with  an 
interlinear  translation,  will  serve  for  illustration. 

Ure   Fasder,   thu   the  eart   on  heofonum,  si  thin  nama  gehalsod. 

Our  Father,    thou   who    art     in  [///£>]  heavens,  be    thy     name     hallowed. 
Tocume     thin     rice.         Geweorthe    thin    willa    on    eorthan    swa-swa 
May  come    thy   kingdom.  Be  thy       will     on       earth  as 

on   heofonum.      Sale  us  to-daeg  urne  daeg-hwamlican  hlaf.  And 

in  [the]hea7'ens.    Give  us    to-day    our  daily  bread  {loaf).    And 

forgif  us  ure  gyltas  swa-swa  we  fogifath  urum  gyl-tendum.      And  ne 
forgive  us  our   guilts  as        zve   forgive      our     guilty  ones.        And   not 

laed   thu   us   on   costnunge.       Ac    alys    us   from    yfel.      Si   hit    swa. 
lead  thou    us  into   temptation.        But  release  us   from    evil.       Be    it       so. 

The  first  literature  of  a  people  is  poetry.  In  national 
as  in  individual  Ufe,  the  imagination  is  active  during  the 
period  of  youth.  Among  the  Anglo-Saxons,  as  among 
some  other  nations,  narrative  poems,  before  they  were 
reduced  to  writing,  were  sung  by  the  wandering  glee- 
man, — 

"  A  man  of  celebrity,  mindful  of  rhythms, 
Who  ancient  tradition  treasured  in  memory, 
New  word-groups  found  properly  bound."  ^ 

1  "  Beowulf,"  .xiv. 


22  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

The  most  pleasing  picture  that  comes  to  us  from  the 
early  days  of  our  English  forefathers,  is  that  of  the  scop  or 
gleeman  at  their  feasts.  While  the  stern  warriors  sit  at 
their  long  tables  and  quaff  their  mead  in  the  large  hall 
hung  with  shields  and  armor,  and  lighted  by  great  blazing 
logs  on  the  hearth,  the  rude  poet,  to  the  sound  of  his 
harp,  recounts  the  deeds  of  heroes  in  rhythmical  song. 

The  principle  of  Anglo-Saxon  poetry  is  not  rhyme  nor 
metre,  but  alliteration.  Each  line  is  divided  into  two  parts 
by  a  caesura,  and  two  principal  words  of  the  first  hemis- 
tich, and  one  of  the  second,  regularly  begin  with  the  same 
consonant.  If  these  principal  words  begin  with  vowels, 
they  are  different.  Parallelism  —  the  repetition  of  the 
same  thought  in  different  words,  as  in  Hebrew  poetry  — 
is  also  common.  The  following  extract  from  "  Beowulf  " 
exhibits  the  Anglo-Saxon  alliterative  form  :  — 

"  His  rtrmor  of /Von  —  o'H  him  he  did  then, 
His  /^elmet  from  his  /^ead  —  to  his  //enchman  committed, 
His  c/^ased-handled  ^-^ain-sword,  —  t/^oicest  of  weapons, 
And  ^ade  him  iJide,  —  with  his  (battle-equipment." 

The  language  of  Anglo-Saxon  poetry  is  abrupt,  ellipti- 
cal, and  highly  metaphorical,  but  often  of  great  energy. 
The  range  of  ideas  is  necessarily  limited.  From  what  we 
already  know  of  the  life  and  character  of  the  Angles  and 
Saxons,  it  is  not  difficult  to  understand  the  spirit  of  their 
poetry.  Not  love,  but  war  and  religion  form  its  leading 
themes.  Its  prevailing  tone,  especially  of  that  portion 
which  contains  an  echo  of  the  continental  home  of  the 
Angles  and  Saxons,  is  one  of  sadness.  The  inhospitable 
climate  of  northern  Germany,  and  the  stern  struggle  for 


OLD  ENGLISH  OR  ANGLO-SAXON  PERIOD.  23 

existence  on  land  and  sea,  made  life  a  deeply  serious  thing. 
Human  agency  was  felt  to  be  weak  in  comparison  with  the 
great  invisible  forces  of  nature.  The  sense  of  fate  and 
death  weighed  heavily  on  the  Anglo-Saxon  mind.  Thus, 
in  "The  Wanderer,"  a  poem  of  an  unknown  author,  we 

read :  — 

"  Earth  is  enwrapped  in  the  lowering  tempest, 

Fierce  ori  the  stone-cliff  the  storm  rushes  forth, 
Cold  winter-terror,  the  night-shade  is  dark'ning, 

Hail-storms  are  laden  with  death  from  the  north. 
All  full  of  hardships  is  earthly  existence  — 

Here  the  decrees  of  the  Fates  have  their  sway  — 
Fleeting  is  treasure  and  fleeting  is  friendship  — 

Here  man  is  transient,  here  friends  pass  away. 
Earth's  widely  stretching,  extensive  domain, 
Desolate  all  —  empty,  idle,  and  vain."^ 

The  Anglo-Saxon  literature  that  has  been  preserved  to 
us,  though  of  small  extent,  is  of  incalculable  value,  not  so 
much  for  its  intrinsic  merit  as  for  the  light  it  throws  on  the 
life  and  character  of  our  Teutonic  ancestors.  About  thirty 
thousand  lines  of  poetry  and  a  few  prose  works  have  come 
down  to  us.  This  literature,  especially  the  poetical  part  of 
it,  shows  us  the  force  of  thought  and  imagination  which 
they  possessed  as  a  racial  inheritance.  It  reveals  to  us 
their  manner  of  life ;  but  above  all,  it  shows  us  the  depth 
of  soul  with  which  they  contemplated  the  mysteries  of  ex- 
istence, and  the  courage  with  which  they  met  its  inevitable 
hardships  and  duties.  The  literature  of  the  Anglo-Saxon 
reveals  to  us  a  nation  strong  in  its  mental  and  moral  poten- 
tialities —  the  substructure  on  which  was  to  be  built  Eng- 
lish and  American  civilization. 

^  Translation  of  W.  R.  Sims. 


24  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Caedmon,  the  earliest  of  English  poets,  lived  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  seventh  century.  He  has  with  justice 
been  called  "the  Milton  of  our  forefathers";  and  his 
poems  are  strongly  suggestive  of  "  Paradise  Lost."  He 
seems  to  have  been  a  laborer  on  the  lands  attached  to 
the  monastery  of  St.  Hilda  at  Whitby,  and  was  advanced 
in  years  before  his  poetical  powers  were  developed.  When 
at  festive  gatherings  it  was  agreed  that  all  present  should 
sing  in  turn,  Caedmon  was  accustomed,  as  the  harp  ap- 
proached him,  quietly  to  retire  with  a  humiliating  sense 
of  his  want  of  skill.  Having  left  the  banqueting  hall  on 
one  occasion,  he  went  to  the  stable,  where  it  was  his  turn 
to  care  for  the  horses.  In  a  vision  an  angel  appeared  to 
him  and  said :  "  Caedmon,  sing  a  song  to  me."  He  an- 
swered :  "  I  cannot  sing ;  for  that  is  the  reason  why  I 
left  the  entertainment,  and  retired  to  this  place."  "  Never- 
theless," said  the  heavenly  visitor,  "  thou  shalt  sing." 
"  What  shall  I  sing } "  inquired  the  poet,  as  he  felt  the 
movement  of  an  awakening  power.  "  Sing  the  beginning 
of  created  things,"  said  the  angel. 

His  mission  was  thus  assigned  him.  In  the  morning 
the  good  abbess  Hilda,  with  a  company  of  learned  men, 
witnessed  an  exhibition  of  his  newly  awakened  powers ; 
and  concluding  that  heavenly  grace  had  been  bestowed 
upon  him,  she  bade  him  lay  aside  his  secular  habit  and 
received  him  into  the  monastery  as  a  monk.  Here  he 
led  a  humble,  exemplary  life  in  the  exercise  of  his  poetic 
gifts.  "  He  sang  the  creation  of  the  world,  the  origin 
of  man,  and  all  the  history  of  Genesis ;  and  made  many 
verses  on  the  departure  of  the  children  of  Israel  out  of 
Egypt,  and  their  entering  into  the  Land  of  Promise,  with 


OLD  ENGLISH   OR  ANGLO-SAXON  PERIOD.  25 

many  other  histories  from  Holy  Writ  ...  by  which  he 
endeavored  to  turn  away  all  men  from  the  love  of  vice, 
and  to  excite  in  them  the  love  of,  and  application  to,  good 
actions."  ^ 

The  following  description  of  the  Creation  illustrates 
Caedmon's  manner  of  amplifying  the  Scripture  narra- 
tive :  — 

"  There  was  not  yet  then  here, 

Except  gloom  like  a  cavern, 

Any  thing  made. 

But  the  wide  ground 

Stood  deep  and  dim, 

For  a  new  lordship 

Shapeless  and  unsuitable. 

On  this  with  his  eyes  he  glanced, 

The  King  stern  in  mind, 

And  the  joyless  place  beheld. 

He  saw  the  dark  clouds 

Perpetually  press 

Black  under  the  sky, 

Void  and  waste ; 

Till  that  this  world's  creation 

Through  the  word  was  done 

Of  the  King  of  Glory." 

Though  rude  in  form,  Caedmon's  Paraphrase  contains 
genuine  poetry.  It  is  the  product  of  admirable  genius, 
but  genius  fettered  by  unfavorable  surroundings  and  lack 
of  culture. 

The  most  important  Anglo-Saxon  poem  that  has  de- 
scended to  us  is  "  Beowulf,"  a  primitive  epic  of  some  three 
thousand  lines.  It  was  probably  composed  in  its  present 
form  in  the  eighth  century,  but  the  events  it  celebrates 

^  Bede,  "  Ecclesiastical  History. " 


26  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

are  of  a  much  earlier  date.  It  brings  before  us  the  spirit 
and  manners  of  our  forefathers,  before  they  left  their 
continental  home.     The  hero  of  the  poem  is  Beowulf :  — 

"  Of  heroes  then  living 
He  was  the  stoutest  and  strongest,  sturdy  and  noble." 

Sailing  to  the  land  of  the  Danes,  he  slew  a  monster  of 
the  fens  called  Grendel,  whose  nightly  ravages  brought 
dismay  into  Hrothgar's  royal  palace.  After  slaying  the 
fiend  of  the  marshes  and  his  mother  beneath  the  waters, 
Beowulf,  loaded  with  presents  and  honors,  returned  to 
Sweden,  where  he  became  king,  and  ruled  fifty  years. 
But  at  last,  in  slaying  a  fire-dragon  "  under  the  earth, 
nigh  to  the  sea-wave,"  he  was  mortally  wounded.  His 
body  was  burned  on  a  lofty  funeral  pyre  amidst  the 
lamentations  of  his  vassals. 

Such  in  brief  is  the  story  of  this  epic  of  heroic  daring 
and  achievement,  in  which  the  old  Teutonic  character  is 
reflected  in  its  fulness.  Its  details  are  full  of  interest. 
The  fierceness  of  northern  seas  and  skies  is  brought 
before  us.  We  assist  at  mead-hall  banquets,  in  which 
gracious  queens  and  beautiful  maidens  hand  the  ale  cup. 
The  loyalty  of  liegemen  is  beautifully  portrayed.  A  stern 
sense  of  honor  prevails  among  the  rude  warriors :  — 

"  Death  is  more  pleasant 
To  every  earlman  than  infamous  life  is." 

Their  courage  is  dauntless,  and  words  count  for  less 
than  actions.  Beowulf  thus  states  to  the  queen  the  object 
of  his  visit :  — 

"  I  purposed  in  spirit  when  I  mounted  the  ocean, 
When  1  boarded  my  boat  with  a  band  of  my  liegemen, 


OLD  ENGLISH  OR  ANGLO-SAXON  PERIOD.  2/ 

I  would  work  to  the  fullest  the  will  of  your  people, 
Or  in  foe's-clutches  fastened  fall  in  the  battle. 
Deeds  I  shall  do  of  daring  and  prowess, 
Or  the  last  of  my  life-days  live  in  this  mead-hall." 

The  poem  concludes  with  the  following  lines  in  praise 
of  Beowulf :  — 

"  'Round  the  dead-mound  rode  then  the  doughty-in-battle, 
Bairns  of  all  twelve  of  the  chiefs  of  the  people, 
More  would  they  mourn,  lament  for  their  ruler. 
Speak  in  measure,  mention  him  with  pleasure, 
Weighed  his  worth,  and  his  warlike  achievements 
Mightily  commended,  as  'tis  meet  one  praise  his 
Liegelord  in  words  and  love  him  in  spirit, 
When  forth  from  his  body  he  fares  to  destruction. 
So  lamented  mourning  the  men  of  the  Geats, 
Fond-loving  vassals,  the  fall  of  their  lord, 
Said  he  was  kindest  of  kings  under  heaven, 
Gentlest  of  men,  mopt  winning  of  manner. 
Friendliest  to  folk-troops  and  fondest  of  honor."  ^ 

Other  Anglo-Saxon  poems  that  deserve  mention  are 
"The  Seafarer,"  "  Deor's  Complaint,"  "The  Fight  at 
Maldon,"  and  "Judith."  The  former  deal  with  the  hard- 
ships and  sorrows  of  life ;  the  latter  breathe  the  martial 
spirit  of  the  Teutonic  race.  Besides  these  and  other  secu- 
lar poems,  there  is  a  cycle  of  religious  poetry  dating  from 
the  eighth  or  ninth  centuries.  It  was  stimulated  by  the 
work  of  Caedmon.  "Others  after  him,"  says  Bede,  "tried 
to  make  religious  poems,  but  none  could  vie  with  him,  for 
he  did  not  learn  the  art  of  poetry  from  men,  nor  of  men, 
but  from  God."  This  rehgious  poetry  is  usually  based  on 
Scripture  or  on  legends  of  saints.     Cynewulf,  a  North- 

^  Translation  of  J.  L.  Hall. 


28  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

umbrian  poet  of  the  eighth  century,  was  the  author  of 
several  religious  poems  of  acknowledged  excellence,  among 
which  are  the  "Passion  of  St.  Juliana,"  the  "Christ,"  and 
"  Elene,  or  the  Finding  of  the  Cross." 

Not  many  sovereigns  deserve  a  place  in  literature  be- 
cause of  their  own  writings.  But  Alfred  was  as  great 
with  the  pen  as  with  the  sword.  His  history,  around 
which  legendary  stories  have  gathered,  reads  in  its  reality 
like  a  piece  of  fiction.  Known  ages  ago  as  the  "  darling 
of  the  English,"  he  grows  in  greatness  with  the  passing 
years.  The  unfavorable  surroundings  of  his  life  serve  as 
a  foil  to  set  off  his  virtues. 

He  was  born  in  849.  A  part  of  his  childhood  was  spent 
in  Rome,  while  much  of  its  ancient  splendor  still  remained. 
At  the  residence  of  King  ^thelwulf,  his  father,  he  learned 
not  only  the  manly  sports  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  youth,  — 
running,  leaping,  wrestling,  hunting,  —  but  also  the  vari- 
ous occupations  pertaining  to  the  household,  the  workshop, 
and  the  tilling  of  the  soil.  He  had  a  passion  for  the 
heroic  songs  of  his  people,  and  even  before  learning  to 
read  he  had  committed  many  of  them  to  memory.  Blessed 
with  a  healthful  precocity  of  mind,  he  treasured  up  all  this 
varied  knowledge,  and  utilized  it  with  rare  wisdom  in  after 
years. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-three  he  ascended  the  throne,  and 
spent  a  considerable  part  of  his  subsequent  life  in  con- 
flict with  the  Danes,  who  in  great  numbers  were  making 
a  descent  upon  the  cultivated  districts  of  England  and 
France  for  the  sake  of  pillage.  At  one  time  he  was  re- 
duced to  the  extremity  of  fleeing  with  a  few  followers 
before  the  pagan  invaders.     But  adversity,  as  with  every 


OLD  ENGLISH  OR  ANGLO-SAXON  PERIOD.  29 

vigorous  nature,  called  forth  a  greater  energy  and  determi- 
nation. Gathering  about  him  a  body  of  strong  and  true 
men,  he  at  length  turned  upon  the  foe,  surprised  and  de- 
feated them,  and  conquered  a  favorable  peace.  By  the 
superior  military  organization  of  his  people,  by  the  found- 
ing of  an  English  navy,  and,  above  all,  by  his  preeminent 
ability  as  a  commander,  he  succeeded  in  repelling  all  sub- 
sequent attacks  by  the  northern  invaders,  and  saved  Eng- 
land to  the  Anglo-Saxon  race. 

In  the  leisure  that  followed  his  treaties  of  peace,  Alfred 
devoted  himself  assiduously  to  the  elevation  and  welfare 
of  his  people.  He  rebuilt  ruined  towns,  restored  demol- 
ished monasteries,  established  a  fixed  code  of  laws,  and 
encouraged  every  form  of  useful  industry.  The  king  him- 
self set  the  example  of  diligent  labor.  By  means  of  six 
wax  candles,  which,  lighted  in  succession,  burned  twenty- 
four  hours,  he  introduced  a  rigid  system  into  his  work. 
He  carried  with  him  a  little  book  in  which  he  noted  the 
valuable  thoughts  that  occurred  to  him  from  time  to  time. 
When  he  came  to  the  throne,  the  learning  which  a  century 
before  had  furnished  Europe  with  some  of  its  most  emi- 
nent scholars  had  fallen  into  decay.  "  To  so  low  a  depth 
has  learning  fallen  among  the  English  nation,"  he  says, 
"  that  there  have  been  very  few  on  this  side  of  the  H um- 
ber who  were  able  to  understand  the  English  of  their  ser- 
vice, or  to  turn  an  epistle  out  of  Latin  into  English  ;  and 
I  know  that  there  were  not  many  beyond  the  Humbcr  who 
could  do  it." 

With  admirable  tact  and  wisdom  he  set  about  remedy- 
ing the  evil.  He  studied  Latin  himself  that  he  might 
provide  his  people  with  useful  books ;  he  invited  learned 


30  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

scholars  from  the  Continent  to  his  court ;  and  he  estab. 
lished  in  the  royal  palace  a  school  for  the  instruction  of 
noble  youth.  His  efforts  were  grandly  successful ;  and 
in  less  than  a  generation  England  was  again  blessed  with 
intelligence  and  prosperity.  Among  the  books  he  trans- 
lated into  Anglo-Saxon  were  Bede's  "  Ecclesiastical  His- 
tory "  ;  Orosius's  "  Universal  History,"  the  leading  text- 
book on  that  subject  in  the  monastic  schools  for  several 
centuries  ;  and  Boethius's  "  Consolations  of  Philosophy,"  a 
popular  book  among  thoughtful  people  during  the  Middle 
Ages.  These  translations  were  not  always  literal.  Alfred 
rather  performed  the  work  of  editor,  paraphrasing,  omit- 
ting, adding,  as  best  served  his  purpose.  In  the  work  of 
Boethius  he  frequently  departed  from  the  text  to  introduce 
reflections  of  his  own.  To  him  belongs  the  honor  of  hav- 
ing furnished  England  with  its  first  body  of  literature  in 
the  native  tongue. 

He  died  in  901.  The  governing  purpose  of  his  life  he 
pointed  out  in  a  single  sentence :  "  This  I  can  now  truly 
say,  that  so  long  as  I  have  lived,  I  have  striven  to  live 
worthily,  and  after  my  death  to  leave  my  memory  to  my 
descendants  in  good  works."  In  him  the  Anglo-Saxon 
stock  reached  its  highest  development.  His  character  was 
based  on  a  profound  belief  in  the  abiding  presence  of  God. 
But  rising  above  the  ascetic  spirit  of  his  time,  he  devoted 
himself  to  the  duties  of  his  royal  station.  To  great  vigor 
in  action  he  added  the  force  of  patient  and  invincible  en- 
durance. While  he  watched  with  capacious  intellect  over 
the  interests  of  his  entire  realm,  he  led  with  great  sim- 
phcity  a  genial  and  affectionate  life  with  his  family  and 
friends.  After  ages  have  made  no  mistake  in  calling  him 
Alfred  the  Great. 


MIDDLE   ENGLISH    OR    FORMATIVE    PERIOD. 


f.-^"Am 


PRINCIPAL  WRITERS. 


History.— ^"Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle"'  (concluded  1154). 
N  William  of  Malmesbury  (i  095-1 142),  Latin  Chronicler.     "  De  Gestis 
Regum  Anglorum,"  etc. 
V  Matthew  Paris  (i  195-1259),  Latin  Chronicler.    "  Historia  Major,"  etc. 

Metrical   Chronicles. —^  Layamon    (twelfth    century),   "Brut," 

or  Chronicles  of  Britain. 

Robert  of  Gloucester  (f  1300),  "  Rhyming  Chronicles  of  Britain." 

Robert  Manning  (f  1270),  '"Chronicles  of  England." 
y 

Religion.  -|  John  Wycliffe  ( 1324-1384) .  Tracts,  Sermons,  Transla- 
tion of  the  Bible.        '"'  ' 

Ormin  (thirteenth  century),  "Ormulum." 
VLangland  (fourteenth  century),  "  Vision  of  Piers  the  Plowman." 

Miscellaneous  Poetry. — John^Gower  (1327-1408),  "Speculum 
Meditantis"  (French),  "Vox  Clamantis"  (Latin),  "Confessio  Amantis" 
(English),  etc. 

GREAT   REPRESENTATIVE   WRITER. 
Geoffrey  Chaucer. 


///)  z^' 


\ 


/ 


II. 

MIDDLE    ENGLISH    OR    FORMATIVE    PERIOD. 

(1066-1400.) 

Limits   of   period  —  Normans  —  Their   cliaracter  —  Norman  Conquest 

—  Modern  English  —  Social  condition  of  England  —  Existing  evils 

—  Literary  development  —  Esteem  for  learning — Troiivcre   poetry 

—  "Chanson  de  Roland"  —  Arthurian  cycle — Italian   influence  — 
.  History,   romance,    religion — "Anglo-Saxon    Chronicle" — Latin 

Chroniclers  —  Lyrical  poetry  —  Layamon's  **  Brut  "  —  Robert  of 
Gloucester  —  Robert  Manning  —  Wycliffe  —  Orniin  —  Langland  — 
Gower  —  Chaucer. 

The  designation  Middle  English  or  Formative  Period  is 
applied  to  the  centuries  lying  between  the  Norman  Con- 
quest and  the  death  of  Chaucer.  It  is  a  period  of  great 
importance  for  English  history  and  Enghsh  hterature. 
England  passed  under  a  succession  of  alien  rulers,  the 
state  of  society  underwent  a  great  change,  and  our  lan- 
guage approached  its  modern  form. 

The  name  of  Normans  is  given  to  the  Scandinavians 
who,  at  the  beginning  of  the  tenth  century,  conquered  a 
home  in  the  northern  part  of  France.  They  speedily 
adopted  the  language  and  customs  of  the  subjugated 
country,  and  rapidly  advanced  in  refinement  and  culture. 
By  intermarriage  with  the  native  population,  a  vivacious 
Celtic  element  was  introduced  into  the  grave  Teutonic  dis- 
D  33 


34  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

position.  Though  of  kindred  blood  with  the  Anglo- 
Saxons,  the  Normans,  by  their  stay  in  France,  developed 
a  new,  and  in  many  respects  admirable,  type  of  character. 

Along  with  their  native  Teutonic  strength  they  acquired 
a  versatile  and  imitative  temper,  which  made  them  accessi- 
ble to  new  ideas,  and  prepared  them  to  be  leaders  in 
general  progress.  Losing  their  slow,  phlegmatic  tempera- 
ment, they  became  impulsive  and  impatient  of  restraint. 
Their  intellects  acquired  a  nimble  quality,  quick  in  dis- 
cernment and  instantaneous  in  decision.  Delicacy  of 
feeling  produced  aversion  to  coarse  pleasures.  They  de- 
lighted in  a  gay  social  life,  with  hunting,  hawking,  showy 
equipage,  and  brilliant  festivities.  Diplomacy  in  a  meas- 
ure supplanted  daring  frankness.  Brilhant  superficiality 
took  the  place  of  grave  thoughtfulness.  Such  were  the 
people  that  were  to  rule  in  England,  to  introduce  their 
language  and  customs,  and,  amalgamated  at  last,  to  impart 
a  needed  element  to  the  English  character. 

In  1066  William,  Duke  of  Normandy,  landed  on  the 
English  coast  to  enforce  his  claim  to  the  English  throne. 
In  the  battle  of  Hastings  he  gained  a  complete  victory 
over  the  force  under  Harold,  and  won  the  title  of  Con- 
queror. He  distributed  England  in  the  form  of  fiefs 
among  his  followers,  and  reduced  the  Anglo-Saxon  popu- 
lation to  a  condition  of  serfdom.  Feudal  castles  were 
erected  in  every  part  of  England ;  and  the  barons  or  lords, 
supported  by  the  labors  of  a  great  body  of  dependants, 
lived  in  idleness  and  luxury.  These  baronial  residences 
became  centres  of  knightly  culture.  Here  noble  youths 
acquired  courtly  graces,  and  wandering  minstrels  enter- 
tained the  assembled  household  with  their  songs.     Brilliant 


MIDDLE  ENGLISH  OR  FORMATIVE  PERIOD.  35 

tournaments  from  time  to  time  brought  together  the 
beauty  and  chivalry  of  the  whole  realm.  French  became 
the  social  language  of  the  ruling  classes ;  and  the  Anglo- 
Saxons,  reduced  to  servitude,  were  despised.  It  required 
many  generations  to  break  down  this  harsh  antagonism. 

But  toward  the  close  of  the  period,  especially  in  the 
fourteenth  century,  the  people  of  England  became  more 
homogeneous.  The  Normans  coalesced  with  the  Anglo- 
Saxons,  and  added  new  elements  to  the  English  character. 
At  the  same  time  the  Anglo-Saxon  language,  which  had 
hitherto  maintained  its  highly  inflected  character,  made  a 
gradual  transition  into  modern  English.  It  gave  up  its 
complicated  inflections,  and  received  into  its  vocabulary  a 
host  of  foreign  elements,  chiefly  from  the  French.  The 
new  tongue,  which  gradually  supplanted  French  and 
Latin,  gained  official  recognition  in  1 362,  when  it  became 
the  language  of  the  courts  of  law ;  and  the  following  year 
it  was  employed  in  the  speech  made  at  the  opening  of 
Parliament. 

The  social  condition  of  England  in  the  thirteenth  and 
fourteenth  centuries  was  intimately  related  to  the  first 
great  outbreak  of  English  literature.  A  restraint  was  set 
upon  absolutism  by  the  provisions  of  the  Great  Charter. 
The  growth  of  cities  and  towns  had  been  rapid,  and  there 
existed  in  all  parts  of  England  a  wealthy  and  influential 
citizen  class.  The  serfs  of  the  time  of  the  Conquest  bad- 
risen  to  the  rank  of  free  peasants.  Parhament  was  divided 
into  two  bodies,  and  the  people  acquired  a  growing  influ- 
ence in  the  affairs  of  government.  The  amalgamation  of 
the  two  races  that  had  lived  side  by  side  for  centuries  was 
gradually  completed,  and  the  great  English  nation,  in  its 


36  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

modern  form,  had  its  beginning  —  a  nation  that  in  its  type 
of  character  is  second  to  none  in  the  history  of  the  world. 

But  many  evils  still  existed.  The  nobility  lived  in  lux- 
ury and  extravagance,  while  the  peasants  lived  in  squalor 
and  want.  The  public  taste  was  coarse,  and  the  state 
of  morals  low.  Highwaymen  rendered  travel  unsafe. 
Through  gross  abuses  of  its  power  and  the  extensive  cor- 
ruption of  its  representatives,  the  church  had  in  large 
measure  lost  its  hold  upon  the  people.  Immense  reve- 
nues, five  times  greater  than  that  of  the  crown,  were  paid 
into  the  coffers  at  Rome.  Half  the  soil  of  England  was 
in  the  hands  of  the  clergy.  The  immorahty  of  the  friars 
was  notorious,  and  provoked  vigorous  denunciation  and 
resistance.  Yet  there  were  faithful  pastors  and  prelates, 
who,  like  Chaucer's  poor  parson,  taught  "  Christes  lore  " 
and  followed  it  themselves ;  and  magnificent  cathedrals 
were  built  to  stand  as  objects  of  admiration  for  succeeding 

ages. 

As  compared  with  the  preceding  period,  literature 
exhibits  great  expansion.  It  gained  in  variety  and  extent 
—  a  result  that  was  due  to  a  number  of  cooperative  causes. 
The  crusades  had  a  stimulating  effect  in  Europe,  and 
brought  new  ideas  into  vogue.  The  caliphs  of  Bagdad 
and  Cordova  became  rivals  in  the  patronage  of  learning, 
and  for  a  time  the  Arabians  became  the  intellectual  lead- 
ers of  Europe.  Their  schools  in  Spain  were  largely 
attended  by  Christian  youths  from  other  European  coun- 
tries, who  carried  back  with  them  to  their  homes  the 
Arabian  science,  and  through  it  gave  a  new  impulse  to 
learning  in  Christian  nations. 

During  this  period  learning  was  held  in  greater  esteem 


MIDDLE  ENGLISH   OR  FORMATIVE  PERIOD.  37 

and  prosecuted  with  greater  vigor  throughout  Christian 
Europe.  The  monastic  and  cathedral  schools  were  gen- 
erally improved.  The  growth  of  towns  and  cities  led  to 
the  establishment  of  burgher  schools  for  secular  education. 
Learning  was  no  longer  confined  to  representatives  of  the 
church.  The  first  great  universities  were  founded  in  this 
period — those  of  Bologna,  Salerno,  and  Paris  in  the 
twelfth  century.  The  oldest  colleges  of  Oxford  and  Cam- 
bridge date  from  this  period.  The  universities  were  often 
attended  by  enormous  numbers  of  students  from  every  part 
of  Europe ;  there  were  as  many  as  twenty  thousand  at  the 
University  of  Paris  at  one  time.  "  A  new  fervor  of  study," 
to  use  the  words  of  Green,  "  sprang  up  in  the  West  from 
its  contest  with  the  more  cultured  East.  Travellers,  like 
Adelard  of  Bath,  brought  back  the  first  rudiments  of  physi- 
cal and  mathematical  science  from  the  schools  of  Cordova 
or  Bagdad.  In  the  twelfth  century  a  classical  revival  re- 
stored Caesar  and  Virgil  to  the  list  of  monastic  studies. 
The  scholastic  philosophy  sprang  up  in  the  schools  of 
Paris.  The  Roman  law  was  revived  by  the  imperialist 
doctors  of  Bologna.  The  long  mental  activity  of  feudal 
Europe  broke  up  like  ice  before  a  summer's  sun."  ^ 

In  France  the  trouvere  produced  long  narrative  poems, 
full  of  legend,  war,  and  chivalry.  These  poems  are 
grouped  in  three  principal  cycles,  of  which  Charlemagne, 
Alexander,  and  King  Arthur  are  respectively  the  heroes. 
They  are  known  as  "  Chansons  de  Geste,"  and  were  very 
popular  in  France  and  England.  They  were  sung  or  re- 
cited by  minstrels,  and  in  England  elevated  the  taste,  sup- 
plied literary  materials,  and  exerted  no  small  influence  on 

1  "History  of  English  Teople,"  Vol.  1,  198. 


38  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

the  language.  The  principal  poem  of  the  Carlovingian  cy- 
cle is  the  "  Chanson  de  Roland,"  an  epic  of  four  thousand 
lines,  filled  with  chivalrous  spirit  and  heroic  deeds.  The 
historic  event  which  it  commemorates  was  the  invasion  of 
Spain  by  Charlemagne  in  the  eighth  century.  On  the  em- 
peror's return,  his  rear-guard,  under  the  command  of 
Roland,  one  of  his  principal  paladins,  was  treacherously 
attacked  in  the  passes  of  the  Pyrenees  and  slain.  But 
before  he  died  Roland  sounded  his  miraculous  horn,  and 
Charlemagne,  who  was  thirty  leagues  in  advance,  returned 
and  avenged  his  death.  The  poem  dates  from  the  eleventh 
century ;  and,  according  to  an  old  chronicle,  the  minstrel 
Taillefer  rode  in  front  of  the  Norman  line  at  the  battle  of 
Hastings,  and,  while  he  tossed  his  sword  in  the  air  and 
caught  it  again,  he  sang  the  song  of  Roland.  The  fol- 
lowing  lines,   describing   Roland's   death,    will   serve    for 

illustration  :  — 

"  Count  Roland  lies  beneath  a  pine. 

His  pallid  face  is  turned  to  Spain. 

His  memory  reverts  unto  the  past, 

Recalling  countries  he  had  won, 

Fair  France,  and  all  his  family, 

And  Charlemagne,  his  sovereign  lord, 

And  Frenchmen  loyal  unto  him. 

He  cannot  keep  from  sighs  and  tears, 

But  not  forgetful  of  himself, 

He  begs  forgiveness  of  his  Lord."  ^ 

The  Arthurian  cycle  is  still  more  important  for  Eng- 
lish literature.     Near  the  middle  of  the  twelfth  century, 

1  "  Li  quens  RoUanz  se  jut  desuz  un  pin : 
Envers  Espaigne  en  ad  turnet  sun  vis. 
De  plusurs  choses  ^  remembrer  li  prist,  "  etc. 

Lines  2375-2384. 


MIDDLE  ENGLISH   OR  FORMATIVE  PERIOD.  39 

Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  a  Welsh  priest,  wrote  in  Latin 
what  purported  to  be  a  history  of  Britain  from  the  days 
when  Brut,  the  grandson  of  yEneas,  landed  on  its  shores, 
down  to  the  death  of  Cadwallo  in  689.  It  contains  the 
story  of  the  Celtic  king,  Arthur,  and  his  Round  Table.  It 
crossed  the  Channel,  where  Norman  trouvhes  expanded 
and  completed  the  Arthurian  legends.  Returning  to  Eng- 
land, these  legends,  as  we  shall  see,  were  embodied  in  a 
long  and  popular  Middle  English  or  semi-Saxon  epic,  con- 
taining the  characters  and  incidents  rendered  familiar  in 
Tennyson's  "  Idyls  of  the  King." 

Italy  exerted  an  influence  scarcely  less  than  that  of 
France  upon  the  development  of  English  literature.  In 
the  thirteenth  and  fourteenth  centuries,  Italy  was  in  ad- 
vance of  the  rest  of  Europe  in  intellectual  culture.  Before 
Chaucer  was  born,  Dante  had  written  the  "  Divina  Com- 
media,"  one  of  the  world's  imperishable  poems.  Petrarch, 
whose  life  covers  the  first  three-quarters  of  the  fourteenth 
century,  was  an  enthusiastic  student  of  the  ancient  classics. 
He  may  justly  be  regarded  as  the  forerunner  of  the  hu-. 
manists,  who  in  the  following  century  brought  about  the 
great  intellectual  movement  known  as  the  revival  of  learn- 
ing. Boccaccio,  his  great  contemporary,  gave  himself 
likewise  to  the  study  of  antiquity.  He  translated  the 
"  Iliad  "  and  the  "  Odyssey  "  ;  but  his  principal  work  was 
the  "Decameron,"  a  collection  of  a  hundred  stories,  to 
which,  as  will  appear  later,  our  literature  is  considerably 
indebted.  The  culture  of  Italy  not  only  stimulated  intel- 
lectual activity  in  England,  but  also  furnished  models  and 
materials  for  literary  work. 

During   the  period  under  consideration,  the  course  of 


40  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

English  literature  follows  three  principal  streams, — history, 
romance,  and  religion.  The  "Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle," 
which  contains  the  history  of  Britain  from  the  invasion 
of  Caesar,  was  completed  in  1154.  Written  in  the  form 
of  brief  annals,  it  is  the  work  of  many  successive  hands. 
King  Alfred  edited  and  expanded  it.  It  is  the  earliest 
history  of  any  Teutonic  people  in  their  own  language. 
"From  Alfred's  time,"  says  Freeman,  "the  narrative 
continues,  sometimes  full,  sometimes  meagre,  sometimes 
a  dry  record  of  names  and  dates,  sometimes  rising  to 
the  highest  flights  of  the  prose  picture  or  the  heroic  lay ; 
but  in  one  shape  or  other  never  failing  us,  till  the  pen 
dropped  from  the  hand  of  the  monk  of  Peterborough,  who 
recorded  the  coming  of  Henry  of  Anjou."  It  contains, 
among  other  poems,  "  The  Battle  of  Brunanburh,"  under 
date  of  937,  commemorating  a  Saxon  victory  over  the 
Northmen  :  — 

"  There  was  made  flee  the  Northmen's  chieftain, 
By  need  constrained,  to  the  ship's  prow 
With  a  little  band.     The  bark  drove  afloat; 
The  king  departed  on  the  fallow  flood, 
His  life  preserved." 

Among  other  chronicles,  which  here  require  no  further 
mention,  are  the  Latin  works  of  William  of  Malmesbury  in 
the  twelfth,  and  of  Matthew  Paris  in  the  thirteenth  century. 

Lyrical  poems  of  adventure  and  sentiment,  in  which 
the  influence  of  the  troubadour  may  perhaps  be  traced,  are 
not  unknown.  Robin  Hood  ballads  were  popular.  The 
earliest  EngHsh  love-song  that  has  been  preserved  was 
written  about  the  year  1200.  The  following  extract  is 
modernized  in  spelling :  — 


MIDDLE  ENGLISH   OR   FORMATIVE  PERIOD.  4 1 

"  Blow,  northern  wind,  send 
Thou  me  my  sweeting ;  blow 
Northern  wind,  blow,  blow,  blow. 
She  is  coral  of  goodness. 
She  is  ruby  of  rich  fulness, 
She  is  crystal  of  clearness, 
And  banner  of  beauty."  . 

The  following  poem  on  spring,  which  was  written  near 
the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth  century,  is  full  of  blithe 
poetic  feeling  :  — 

"  Sumer  is  i-cumen  in 
Lhude  1  sing,  cuccu ; 
Groweth  sed,  and  bloweth  med, 
And  springeth  the  wde-  nu. 

Sing,  cuccu,  cuccu. 
Awe  bleteth  after  lamb, 
Louth  3  after  calve  cu, 
Bulluc  sterteth,  bucke  verteth  : 

Murie  sing,  cuccu. 

Well  sings  the  cuccu, 
Ne  swik  *  thou  never  nu. 

Sing,  cuccu,  nu, 

Sing,  cuccu." 

Layamon's  "Brut,"  or  Chronicle  of  Britain,  a  poem  of 
thirty-two  thousand  Hnes,  is  a  paraphrase  of  Wace's  French 
version  of  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth's  Chronicle,  or  "  Historia 
Britonum."  It  dates  near  the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth 
century.  It  retains  the  Anglo-Saxon  or  Old  English  vocab- 
ulary in  its  purity,  less  than  fifty  French  words  appearing 
in  the  whole  poem.  Its  grammatical  forms  are  known  as 
semi-Saxon,  and  its  verse  wavers  between  the  Old  English 
alliteration  and  French  rhyme  and  metre.     All  that  is  known 

^  Loud.  2  Wood.  8  Runneth.  *  Nor  such. 


42'  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

of  the  author  is  contained  in  the  opening  lines,  in  which  he 
gives  an  account  of  himself  and  his  patriotic  purpose. 

"  A  priest  was  in  the  land, 

Layamon  was  he  hight. 

He  was  Leovenath's  son  : 

Gracious  to  him  be  the  Lord! 

He  dwelt  at  Earnley, 
^  Where  are  noble  churches, 

On  the  Severn's  bank : 

Well  there  he  thought, 

Not  far  from  Radestone, 

Where  he  read  books. 

It  came  in  mind  to  him, 

And  in  his  chief  thought. 

That  he  would  of  the  English 

The  noble  deeds  tell : 

What  they  were  called, 

And  whence  they  came, 

Who  the  English  land 

First  possessed."  ^ 

There  are  two  other  metrical  chronicles  which  are  in- 
teresting and  valuable  as  showing  the  gradual  change  of 
the  language    during    the    Formative    Period.     Robert  of 

1  "  An  preost  wes  on  leoden, 
Layamon  wes  ihoten. 
.  He  was  Leouenathe's  sone : 
Lithe  him  beo  drihte  ! 
He  wonede  at  Ernleye, 
At  aethelen  are  chirechen, 
Uppon  Seuarne  stathe : 
Sel  thar  him  thuhte, 
On  fest  Radestone, 

Ther  he  bock  radde.  ^ 

Hit  com  him  on  mode 
And  on  his  mem  thonke,"  etc. 

(Cj>.  1205.) 


J 


MIDDLE  ENGLISH  OR  FORMATIVE  PERIOD.  43 

Gloucester  wrote  near  the  close  of  the  thirteenth  century. 
His  work  appears  to  be  a  translation  of  a  French  poem, 
which  is  dependent  chiefly  on  the  older  chronicles  already 
mentioned.  It  contains  the  story  of  King  Lear,  which 
begins  as  follows  :  — 

"  After  King  Bathulf,  Lear  his  son  was  king, 
And  reigned  sixty  years  well  through  everything, 
Upon  the  Soar  he  built  a  famous  city, 
And  called  it  Leicester  after  his  own  name. 
Three  daughters  had  this  king,  the  eldest  Goneril, 
The  middle  one  hight  Regan,  the  youngest  Cordelia. 
The  father  loved  them  all  enough,  but  the  youngest  most : 
For  she  was  best  and  fairest,  and  to  haughtiness  drew  least."  ^ 

The  poem  contains  ten  thousand  lines.  It  will  be  noted, 
in  examining  the  original,  that  rhyme  and  metre,  in  imita- 
tion of  the  French,  has  been  fully  adopted. 

The  last  of  the  metrical  chroniclers  was  Robert  Man- 
ning, who  translated  from  a  French  original.  His  work 
dates  from  about  1330,  and,  as  will  be  seen,  the  language 
has  made  considerable  progress  toward  the  modern  form. 

"  Lordynges  that  be  now  here, 
If  ye  will  listene  and  lere  ^ 
All  the  storey  of  Inglande 
Als  ^  Robert  Manning  wryten  it  fand, 

1  "  Aftur  Kyn^  Bathulf,  Leir  ys  sone  was  kyng, 

And  regned  sixti  yer  wel  thoru  alle  thing, 

Up  the  water  of  Soure  a  city  of  gret  fame 

He  endede,  and  clepede  yt  Leicestre,  aftur  ys  owne  name. 

Thre  doghtrcn  this  kyng  hadde,  the  eldeste  Gornorille, 

The  mydmost  hatte  Regan,  the  yongest  Cordeille. 

The  fader  hem  louede  alle  enogh,  ac  the  yongost  mest : 

For  heo  was  best  and  fairest,  and  to  hautenesse  drow  lest." 

(0>.  1275.) 
^  Learn.  *  As. 


44 


ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


And  on  Inglysch  has  it  schewed, 
Not  for  the  lerid  ^  bot  for  the  lewed,* 
For  tho  3  that  in  this  land  wonn  ^ 
That  the  Latyn  ne  Frankys  conn.''  * 

The  chronicle  professes-  to  give  the  history  of  England 
from  "the   tyme   of   Sir  Noe "  to  the  last  of.  the  Celtic 

kings. 

Religion  has  a  prominent  place  in  literature.  As  one 
of  the  great  interests  of  our  race,  it  has  given  rise,  directly 
and  indirectly,  to  a  vast  body  of  writings.  This  is  particu- 
larly true  of  the  English  people,  whose  history  and  char- 
acter have  led  them  to  give  much  thought  to  ecclesiastical 
and  rehgious  truth.  The  religious  condition  of  England 
during  the  Middle  English  Period  is  reflected  in  several 
noteworthy  works.  The  people  of  England  were  begin- 
ning to  emancipate  themselves  from  ecclesiastical  tutelage ; 
and  while  holding  earnestly  to  religion,  they  were  not  slow 
in  recognizing  errors  of  doctrine  and  immorahty  of  life 
on  the  part  of  representatives  of  the  church. 

Wycliffe,  who  has  been  called  the  morning  star  of  the 
Reformation,  was  connected  with  the  University  of  Ox- 
ford, where  his  learning,  ability,  and  integrity  gave  him 
great  influence.  He  was  strongly  anti-papal  in  his  feel- 
ing, and  denied  the  right  of  the  pope  to  interfere  in  tem- 
poral matters.  He  maintained  the  preeminent  authority 
of  the  Scriptures  in  matters  of  faith  and  duty.  He  pro- 
mulgated his  doctrines  in  tracts,  and  through  an  itinerant 
ministry,  whom  he  organized  and  instructed.  His  princi- 
pal claim,  however,  to  a  place  in  English  literature,  rests 
upon  his  translation  of  the  Bible,  which  was  completed 
1  Learned.  ^  ignorant.  » Those.  *  Dwell.  ^  Know. 


MIDDLE  ENGLISH  OR   FORMATIVE  PERIOD.  45 

about  1380.  It  is  regarded  as  the  earliest  Middle  English 
classic,  and  Marsh  calls  it  "  the  golden  book  of  Old  Eng- 
lish philology."  The  following  extract  will  illustrate  its 
style :  "  And  he  spak  to  hem  this  parable,  and  seide.  What 
man  of  you  that  hath  an  hundrith  scheep,  and  if  he  hath 
lost  oon  of  hem,  whethir  he  leeueth  not  nynti  and  nyne 
in  desert,  and  goith  to  it  that  perischide,  til  he  fynde  it? 
And  whanne  he  hath  foundun  it,  he  ioieth,  and  leyith  it 
on  his  schuldris ;  and  he  cometh  hoom,  and  clepith  togidir 
hise  freendis  and  neighboris,  and  seith  to  hem,  Be  ye  glad 
with  me,  for  I  have  founde  my  scheep,  that  hadde  per- 
ischid.  And  I  seie  to  you,  so  ioye  shal  be  in  heuene  on 
o  synful  man  doynge  penaunce,  more  than  on  nynti  and 
nyne  iuste,  that  have  no  nede  to  penaunce." 

Wycliffe's  innovating  and  reformatory  labors  were  not 
to  pass  unchallenged.  He  was  summoned  before  different 
ecclesiastical  courts,  and  condemned  in  several  papal  bulls  ; 
but  he  escaped  punishment  through  the  patronage  of  pow- 
erful friends,  who  sympathized  with  his  teachings.  He 
died  in  1384.  But  his  body  was  not  permitted  to  rest  in 
peace.  His  doctrines  having  been  condemned  by  the 
Council  of  Constance,  his  body  was  exhumed  and  burned, 
and  the  ashes  scattered  on  the  Avon.  His  fate  has  been 
celebrated   by   Wordsworth   in   one   of   his   ecclesiastical 

sonnets :  — 

"  This  deed  accurst, 

An  emblem  yields  to  friends  and  enemies, 

How  the  bold  teacher's  doctrine,  sanctified 

By  truth,  shall  spread,  throughout  the  world  dispersed." 

An  important  work  philologically  is  "  Ormulum,"  a  met- 
rical paraphrase  of  those  portions  of  the  New  Testament 


46  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

appointed  to  be  read  in  the  daily  service  of  the  church, 
accompanied  by  a  homily.       It  is  named  from  its  author, 

who  was  —  ..  ^      •    1  ■  ^1^  " 

"Orrmin  bi  name  nemmnetla. 

The  orthography  of  the  poem  is  peculiar,  as  Ormin 
made  it  a  rule  to  double  the  consonant  after  each  short 
vowel.  Its  date  may  be  fixed  approximately  at  1200.  In 
the  form  in  which  it  has  come  down  to  us,  it  comprises 
about  twenty  thousand  lines.  The  following  passage  from 
the  dedication  will  serve  for  illustration  :  — 

"  Nu,  brotherr  Wallterr,  brotherr  min 
Affterr  the  flaeshess  kinde  ; 
And  brotherr  min  i  Crisstenndom 
Thurrh  fulluhht  ^  and  thurrh  trowwthe ; 
And  brotherr  min  i  Godess  hus, 
Yet  0  the  thride  "  wise, 
Thurrh  thatt  witt  ^  hafenn  takenn  ba* 
An  reghellboc  to  follghenn,^ 
Unnderr  kanunnkess  had  ^  and  lif, 
Swa  summ  "^  Sannt  Awwstin  sette ; 
Ice  hafe  don  swa  summ  thu  badd, 
And  forthedd  te  thin  wille, 
Ice  hafe  wennd  inntill  Ennglissh 
Goddspelless  hallghe  lare  ^ 
Affterr  thatt  little  witt  tatt  me 
Min  Drihhtin  ^  hafethth  lenedd." 

Still  more  important,  for  its  historical  and  literary  value, 
is  Langland's  "The  Vision  of  William  concerning  Piers 
the  Plowman,"  a  poem  of  some  twenty-five  hundred  Hues, 
retaining  the  old  Saxon  alliteration.     It  sets  forth  in  seven 

1  Through  baptism.  ^  Both.  "^  As. 

2  Third.  ^  One  rule  book  to  follow.  ^  Holy  lore. 
8  We,                                   ^  Canonhood.  ®  Lord. 


MIDDLE  ENGLISH  OR  FORMATIVE  PERIOD.  47 

"passus"  or  cantos  a  series  of  visions,  in  which  the  con- 
dition of  the  State  and  the  Church  is  clearly  reflected. 
"  It  was,"  says  Marsh,  "  a  calm,  allegorical  exposition  of 
the  corruptions  of  the  State,  of  the  Church,  and  of  social 
life,  designed,  not  to  rouse  the  people  to  violent  resistance 
or  bloody  vengeance,  but  to  reveal  to  them  the  true  causes 
of  the  evils  under  which  they  were  suffering,  and  to  secure 
the  reformation  of  those  grievous  abuses  by  a  united  exer- 
tion of  the  moral  influence  which  generally  accompanies 
the  possession  of  superior  physical  strength."  It  was 
written  about  1362,  and  attained  a  wide  popularity,  no 
fewer  than  forty-five  manuscripts  being  still  extant.  The 
opening  lines  are  as  follows  :  — 

"  In  a  somer  seson  whan  soft  was  the  sonne, 
I  shope  me  in  shroudes  ^  as  I  a  shepe''^  were, 
In  habite  as  an  heremite  unholy  of  workes, 
Went  wyde  in  this  world  wondres  to  here. 
As  on  a  May  mornynge  on  Malverne  hulles,^ 
Me  byfel  a  ferly  of  fairy,*  me  thoughte ; 
I  was  wery  forwandred  ^  and  went  me  to  reste 
Under  a  brode  banke  bi  a  bornes  ^  side, 
And  as  I  lav  and  lened  and  loked  in  the  wateres, 
I  slombred  in  a  slepyng  it  sweyved  '''  so  merye." 

John  Gower,  a  contemporary  and  friend  of  Chaucer,  was 
of  noble  family.  In  dedicating  a  book  to  him,  Chaucer 
styled  him  the  "moral  Gower,"  a  term  which  has  since 
adhered  to  his  name  and  which  indicates  the  prevailing  pur- 
pose of  his  poetry.  He  wrote  three  principal  poems, — 
the  "  Speculum  Meditantis  "  in  French,  which  has  been  lost, 

^  Arrayed  myself  in  garments.  *  Wonder  of  enchantment. 

2  Shepherd.  ^  Weary  with  wandering. 

8  Hills.  6  Brook.  "  Sounded. 


48  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

the  "  Vox  Clamantis  "  in  Latin,  and  the  "  Confessio  Aman- 
tis  "  in  English.  The  "  Confessio  Amantis,"  or  "  Lover's 
Confession,"  is  a  dialogue  between  a  lover  and  a  priest  of 
Venus.  It  is  written  in  smooth  iambic  tetrameter  verse, 
and  contains,  somewhat  after  the  manner  of  the  "  De- 
cameron," a  succession  of  tales  drawn  from  Ovid,  French 
"  Chansons  de  Geste,"  the  Bible,  Boccaccio,  and  other 
sources.  "Gower  had  some  effect,"  says  Hallam,  "in  ren- 
dering the  language  less  rude,  and  exciting  a  taste  for  verse ; 
if  he  never  rises,  he  never  sinks  low  ;  he  is  always  sensible, 
polished,  perspicuous."  In  the  original  prologue,  Gower 
tells  us  that  the  poem  was  written  at  the  request  of 
Richard  II.,  who  met  him  while  rowing  on  the  Thames:  — 

"And  so  befell  as  I  came  nigh 
Out  of  my  bote,  whan  he  me  sigh, 
He  bad  me  come  into  his  barge. 
And  whan  I  was  with  him  at  large, 
Amonges  other  thinges  said, 
He  hath  this  charge  upon  me  laid 
And  bad  me  do  my  besinesse, 
That  to  his  highe  worthynesse 
Some  newe  thing  I  shoulde  boke, 
That  he  himself  it  mighte  loke 
After  the  forme  of  my  writing." 

The  language  of  Wy cliff e's  version  of  the  Bible  and  of 
Gower's  "Confessio  Amantis"  is  in  the  Mercian  dialect,  or 
in  the  language  spoken  in  central  England.  Chaucer  wrote 
in  the  same  dialect.  It  was  largely  through  the  influence  of 
these  three  great  writers,  together  with  the  influence  of  Ox- 
ford and  Cambridge,  that  the  language  of  central  England 
gained  the  ascendency  over  the  dialect  of  northern  and  south- 
ern England,  and  became  the  mother  of  Modern  English. 


GEOFFREY  CHAUCER.  49 


GEOFFREY  CHAUCER. 

Above  all  his  contemporaries  of  the  fourteenth  century- 
stands  the  figure  of  Geoffrey  Chaucer.  Among  all  the 
writers  that  we  have  considered,  he  is  the  first  to  show  the 
spirit  and  freedom  of  the  modern  world.  Two  recent 
poets  have  accorded  him  generous  recognition  and  praise. 
In  his  "  Dream  of  Fair  Women,"  Tennyson  calls  him  "the 
morning  star  of  song,"  — 

"  Dan  Chaucer,  the  first  warbler,  whose  sweet  breath 
Prekided  those  melodious  bursts  that  fill 
The  spacious  times  of  great  Elizabeth 
With  sounds  that  echo  still." 

In  a  sonnet  on  Chaucer,  Longfellow  says :  — 

"  He  is  the  poet  of  the  dawn,  who  wrote 
The  Canterbury  Tales,  and  his  old  age 
Made  beautiful  with  song ;  and  as  1  read, 
I  hear  the  crowing  cock,  I  hear  the  note 
Of  lark  and  linnet,  and  from  every  page 
Rise  odors  of  ploughed  field  or  flowery  mead." 

Like  Homer  in  Greece,  Chaucer  stands  preeminent  in 
the  early  literature  of  England ;  and  among  the  great 
English  poets  of  subsequent  ages,  not  more  than  three  or 
four  —  Shakespeare,  Spenser,  Milton,  Tennyson  —  deserve 
to  be  placed  in  the  same  rank. 

As  with  some  other  great  writers,  comparatively  little  is 
known  of  Chaucer's  life.  The  most  painstaking  investiga- 
tions have  been  comparatively  fruitless  in  details.    He  was 


50  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

born  in  London  about  1340.  His  father  was  a  vintner, 
and  it  is  not  improbable  that  Geoffrey  sometimes  lent  him 
assistance.  In  the  "  Pardoner's  Tale  "  there  is  an  interest- 
ing passage  which  shows  Chaucer's  acquaintance  with  the 
different  French  and  Spanish  wines,  and  which  contains 
a  warning  against  the  dangers  of  drunkenness  :  — 

"A  lecherous  thing  is  wyne,  and  dronkenesse 
Is  full  of  stryving  and  of  wrecchednesse." 

Nothing  definite  is  known  in  regard  to  his  education. 
The  opinion  formerly  held  that  he  studied  at  Cambridge 
or  Oxford  is  without  satisfactory  foundation.  Yet  his 
works  show  that  he  was  a  man  of  learning.  Besides  his 
knowledge  of  French  and  Italian,  he  was  acquainted  with 
the  classics,  and  with  every  other  branch  of  scholastic 
learning  current  in  his  day. 

In  the  year  1357  an  authentic  record  shows  him  attached 
to  the  household  of  Lady  Elizabeth,  wife  of  Prince  Lionel, 
in  the  capacity  of  a  page.  This  position  was  highly  favor- 
able to  his  general  culture.  It  gave  him  "  the  benefit  of 
society  of  the  highest  refinement,  in  personal  attendance 
on  a  young  and  spirited  prince  of  the  blood.  He  had  his 
imagination  fed  by  scenes  of  the  most  brilliant  court  fes- 
tivities, rendered  more  imposing  by  the  splendid  tri- 
umphs with  which  they  were  connected."  It, secured  him 
throughout  his  long  career  the  advantage  of  royal  patronage. 

About  the  time  he  attained  his  majority,  he  fell  in  love 
with  a  lady  of  the  court  above  his  rank.  His  passion  was 
not  requited  —  a  fact  that  inspired  his  earliest  poem,  "  The 
Compleynte  unto  Pite."  For  several  years  he  dared  not 
reveal  his  affection ;  and  when  at  last  he  did  so,  he  found 


GEOFFREY   CHAUCER.  5 1 

pity  dead  in  the  lady's  heart.     But  still  he  pleads  for  love, 
and  vows  a  lasting  fidelity  :  — 

"  Let  som  streem  of  your  light  on  me  be  sene 
That  love  and  drede  you,  ay  lenger  the  more. 
For,  sothly,  for  to  seyne,  I  here  the  sore, 
And,  though  I  be  not  cunning  for  to  pleyne, 
For  goddes  love,  have  mercy  on  my  peyne." 

In  1359  he  accompanied  Edward  III.  in  an  invasion  of 
France ;  and  having  been  captured  by  the  French,  he  was 
ransomed  by  the  English  king  for  sixteen  pounds.  He 
was  long  attached  to  the  court ;  he  filled  various  public 
offices,  and  served  on  no  fewer  than  seven  diplomatic 
embassies  to  the  Continent.  Among  other  positions,  he 
filled  the  office  of  comptroller  of  customs  in  the  port  of 
London  ;  but,  like  many  others  of  strong  literary  bent,  he 
appears  to  have  felt  the  irksomeness  of  his  routine  duties. 
In  an  autobiographic  touch  in  the  "  Hous  of  Fame,"  we 

read :  — 

"  For  whan  thy  labour  doon  al  is, 

And  hast  y-maad  thy  rekeninges, 
In  stede  of  reste  and  newe  thinges, 
Thou  gost  hoom  to  thy  house  anoon; 
And,  also  domlj  as  any  stoon, 
Thou  sittest  at  another  boke, 
Til  fully  daswed  ^  is  thy  loke, 
And  livest  thus  as  an  hcrmyte, 
Although  thyn  abstinence  is  lyte."  ^ 

Before  going  to  Italy  on  a  diplomatic  mission  in  1378, 
Chaucer  appointed  Gower  as  one  of  his  trustees  to  repre- 
sent him  in  his  absence.  This  fact  seems  to  prove  the 
existence  of  intimate  relations  between  the  two  poets.     If 

1  Dazed.  2  Little,  small. 


52  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

we  may  trust  Gower's  statement  in  a  passage  of  the  "Con- 
fessio  Amantis,"  Chaucer  was  his  disciple  —  though  cer- 
tainly greater  than  his  master. 

"  And  grete  well  Chaucer,  when  ye  mete, 
As  my  disciple  and  my  poete. 
For  in  the  floures  of  his  youth, 
In  sondry  wise,  as  he  well  couth, 
Of  dittees  and  of  songes  glade, 
The  which  he  for  my  sake  made, 
The  lond  fulfilled  is  over  all. 
Whereof  to  him  in  speciall 
Above  all  other  I  am  most  holde."  ^ 

The  time  and  circumstances  of  Chaucer's  marriage  are 
involved  in  obscurity,  though  it  is  tolerably  certain  that 
his  domestic  life  was  unhappy.  At  all  events,  his  refer- 
ences to  marriage  in  his  earlier  writings  are  decidedly 
cynical.  In  the  "  Lenvoy  de  Chaucer  a  Bukton,"  he 
warns  his  friend,  — 

"  But  thou  shalt  have  sorowe  on  thy  flesh,  thy  lyf, 
And  been  thy  wyves  thral." 

In  the  "  Tale  of  the  Wyf  of  Bathe,"  the  knight,  after 
a  year's  inquiry  and  consideration,  returns  to  the  queen, 

and  — 

*' '  My  lige  lady,  generally,'  quod  he, 

'  Wommen  desyren  to  have  sovereyntee 
As  wel  over  hir  housbond  as  hir  love. 
And  for  to  been  in  maistrie  him  above.'  " 

But  elsewhere  he  calls  marriage  a  "  great  sacrament," 
and  declares  that  — 

"A  wyf  is  Goddes  gifte  verrayly." 
1  ««Confessio  Amantis,"  Bk.  VIII. 


GEOFFREY  CHAUCER.  53 

In  1390  Chaucer  superintended  the  erection  of  scaffolds 
in  Smithfield  for  the  use  of  the  king  and  queen  in  viewing 
the  tournament  which  took  place  there  that  year.  He 
was  no  doubt  present  at  the  festivities.  These  facts  will 
explain  to  us  the  minute  acquaintance  with  the  manner  of 
conducting  tournaments  which  the  poet  displays  in  the 
"  Knight's  Tale."  Some  of  the  details  there  given  may 
be  taken  from  the  Smithfield  lists  :  — 

"  That  such  a  noble  theatre  as  it  was 
I  dar  wel  sayn  that  in  this  world  ther  nas. 
The  circuit  a  myle  was  aboute, 
Walled  of  stoon,  and  diched  al  withoute." 

But  his  political  career  was  not  one  of  uninterrupted 
prosperity.  In  1386  he  was  elected  a  member  of  Parlia- 
ment for  the  shire  of  Kent ;  but  the  same  year,  through  a 
change  in  the  government,  he  lost  his  office  of  comptroller 
of  customs.  This  incident  is  supposed  to  have  inspired 
the  ballad  on  "Truth"  :  — 

"  Flee  fro  the  prees,i  and  dwelle  with  sothfastnesse,^ 
Suffyce  unto  ^  thy  good,  though  hit  be  smal ; 
For  hord  hath  hate,  and  climbing  tikelnesse,* 
Frees  hath  envye,  and  wile  blent  overal."^ 

In  1399,  when  he  was  again  in  financial  straits,  he  sent 
to  King  Henry  IV.  a  complaint  about  his  poverty.  It  is 
entitled,  "A  Compleynt  to  his  Purs  "  :  — 

'"  To  you,  my  purse,  and  to  non  other  wight 
Coinplayne  I,  for  you  be  my  lady  dere  ! 
r  am  so  sorry,  now  that  ye  be  light ; 

^  Crowd.  3  Be  content  with. 

2  Truth.  ■*  Instability. 

^  Happiness  fails  everywhere. 


54  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

For  certes,  but  ye  make  me  hevy  chere, 
Me  were  as  leef  be  leyd  upon  my  bere  ; 
For  whiche  unto  your  mercy  thus  I  crye : 
Beth  hevy  ageyn,  or  elles  mot  I  dye." 

This  serio-comic  piece  was  not  fruitless,  and  four  days 
afterward  the  king  doubled  the  poet's  pension. 

In  1 39 1  Chaucer  prepared  a  prose  treatise  on  the  use 
of  the  astrolabe  for  his  ten-year  old  son  Lewis,  who  is 
supposed  to  have  died  not  long  afterward.  In  the 
preface  he  apologizes  for  the  use  of  English,  to  which, 
however,  his  partiality  is  evident :  "  And  Lewis,  yif  so  be 
that  I  shewe  thee  in  my  lighte  English  as  trewe  conclu- 
sions touching  this  matere,  and  naught  only  as  trewe  but 
as  many  and  as  subtil  conclusions  as  ben  shewed  in 
Latin  in  any  commune  tretis  of  the  Astrolabie,  con  ^  me 
the  more  thank." 

Chaucer  died  in  circumstances  of  comfort  and  peace 
Oct.  25,  1400.  His  body  lies  in  Westminster  Abbey, 
where  his  tomb  is  an  object  of  tender  interest  in  the 
famous  Poets'  Corner. 

In  the  "  Prologue  to  Sir  Thopas,"  the  host  of  the  Tabard 
and  the  leader  of  the  Canterbury  pilgrims  draws  the  poet's 
portrait.  After  a  most  pathetic  tale  related  by  the  prior- 
ess, Harry  Bailly  was  the  first  to  interrupt  the  silence  :  — 

"And  than  at  erst  he  loked  upon  me, 
And  seyde  thus,  '  what  man  arthow,'  quod  he  ; 
'  Thou  lokest  as  thou  woldest  finde  an  hare, 
For  ever  upon  the  ground  I  see  thee  stare. 
Approache  neer,  and  loke  up  merily. 
Now  war  you,  sirs,  and  let  this  man  have  place ; 
He  in  the  waast  is  shape  as  wel  as  I ; 

^  Grant. 


GEOFFREY  CHAUCER.  55 

This  were  a  popet  ^  in  an  arm  t'  embrace 
For  any  womman,  smal  and  fair  of  face. 
He  semeth  elvish  by  his  countenance, 
For  unto  no  wight  dooth  he  daliaunce.''  " 

While  the  outward  circumstances  of  Chaucer's  life  are 
so  imperfectly  known,  we  have  abundant  means  to  judge  of 
his  character  and  attainments.  He  is  revealed  to  us  in  his 
writings.  While  associated  with  the  court  hfe  of  his  time, 
he  did  not  surrender  himself  to  its  vices  and  empty  fri- 
volities. He  was  not  indifferent  to  the  enjoyments  of  social 
life,  but,  at  the  same  time,  he  set  his  heart  on  higher 
things.  He  recognized  true  worth  wherever  he  found  it, 
regardless  of  the  accident  of  birth  or  wealth.  He  seems 
in  no  small  measure  to  have  embodied  the  integrity  and 
gentleness  which  he  bravely  ascribes  to  the  character  of 
the  gentleman  in  the  "  Tale  of  the  Wyf  of  Bathe  "  :  — 

"  But  for  ye  speken  of  swich  gentillesse 
As  is  descended  out  of  old  richesse, 
That  therefore  sholden  ye  be  gentil  men, 
Swich  arrogance  is  nat  worth  an  hen. 
Loke  who  that  is  most  virtuous  alway, 
Privee  and  apert,  and  most  entendeth  ay 
To  do  the  gentil  dedes  that  he  can, 
And  tak  him  for  the  grettest  gentil  man. 
Crist  wol,  we  clay  me  of  him  our  gentillesse, 
Nat  of  our  eldres  for  hir  old  richesse." 

Though  a  man  of  large  attainments,  Chaucer  was  not 
overborne  by  the  weight  of  his  learning.  His  individu- 
ality had  free  play.  In  common  with  many  other  great 
poets,  he  was  a  prodigious  borrower,  using  his  lofty  genius, 
not  in  the  work  of  pure  invention,  but  in  glorifying  ma- 

^  If  this  is  spoken  ironically,  as  seems  to  be  the  case,  it  indicates  corpulency. 


56  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

terials  already  existing.  He  is  a  striking  illustration  of 
the  personal  element  in  literature.  Gower  and  Langland 
worked  in  the  presence  of  the  abundant  literary  materials 
of  the  fourteenth  century ;  but  only  Chaucer  had  the  abil- 
ity to  lay  hold  of  it  and  mould  it  into  imperishable  popular 
forms. 

He  spent  much  time  in  reading  and  writing.  In  the 
"  Legend  of  Good  Women,"  he  says:  — 

"  And  as  for  me,  though  that  I  can  but  lyte, 
On  bokes  for  to  rede  I  me  delyte, 
And  to  hem  geve  I  feyth  and  ful  credence, 
And  in  myn  herte  have  hem  in  reverence 
So  hertely,  that  ther  is  game  noon 
That  fro  my  bokes  maketh  me  to  goon." 

And,  as  we  read    in  the  "  Hous  of    Fame,"   he  set  his 

wit,  — 

"  To  make  bokes,  songes,  dytees, 

In  ryme,  or  elles  in  cadence,"  — 

and  in  his  ardor  of  composition,  — 

"  Thou  woh  make 
A-night  ful  ofte  thyn  heed  to  ake, 
In  thy  studie  so  thou  wrytest, 
And  ever-mo  of  love  endytest." 

Chaucer's  love  of  •  nature  was  remarkable,  and  rivalled 
his  passion  for  books.  He  tells  us  that  there  is  nothing 
can  take  him  from  his  reading,  — 

"  Save  certeynly,  whan  that  the  month  of  May 
Is  comen,  and  that  I  here  the  fowles  singe, 
And  that  the  floures  ginnen  for  to  springe, 
Farwel  my  book,  and  my  devocioun." 


GEOFFREY  CHAUCER.  57 

His  poetic  nature  responded  to  the  beauties  of  the 
morning  landscape,  the  matin  carols  of  the  birds,  and  the 
glories  of  the  rising  sun.  The  May-time,  as  may  be  seen 
from  the  prologue  to  the  "  Legend  of  Good  Women,"  was 
his  favorite  season ;  and  long  before  Burns  and  Words- 
worth, he  loved  and  sang  of  the  daisy.  The  sight  of  this 
flower,  as  it  opens  to  the  sun,  lightened  his  sorrow :  — 

"And  down  on  knees  anon —  right  I  me  sette, 
And,  as  I  coude,  this  fresshe  flour  I  grette ; 
Kneling  alwey,  til  hit  unclosed  was, 
Upon  the  smale,  softe,  swote  gras." 

Chaucer's  treatment  of  women  in  his  works  is  full  of 
interest.  He  is  fond  of  satirizing  the  foibles  supposed  to 
be  peculiar  to  their  sex,  and  no  pen  was  ever  sharper. 
But  he  is  not  lost  to  chivalrous  sentiment,  and  nowhere 
else  can  we  find  higher  and  heartier  praise  of  womanly 
patience,  purity,  and  truth.  He  appears  to  have  written 
the  "  Legend  of  Good  Women  "  as  a  kind  of  amends  for 
the  injustice  done  the  sex  in  his  earlier  writings.  And 
his  real  sentiments,  let  us  hope,  are  found  in  the  fol- 
lowing: lines :  — 


'& 


"  Alas,  howe  may  we  say  on  hem  but  well, 
Of  whom  we  were  yfostered  and  ybore, 
And  ben  all  our  socoure,  and  trewe  as  stele, 
And  for  our  sake  ful  oft  they  suffre  sore? 
Without  women  were  all  our  joy  ylore." 

There  are  passages  in  his  works  that  are  very  offensive 
to  modern  taste ;  but  they  are  not  to  be  charged  so  much 
to  Chaucer's  love  of  indecency  as  to  the  grossness  of  his 
age  and  to  his  artistic  sense  of  fitness.     This  is  his  own 


58  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

apology;  and  in  the  prologue  to  one  of  his  most  objection- 
able stories  he  begs  his  gentle  readers  — 

"  For  Goddes  love,  demeth  not  that  I  seye 
Of  evel  entente,  but  that  I  moot  reherce 
Hit  tales  alle,  albe  they  bettre  or  werse, 
Or  elles  falsen  som  of  my  matere." 

Then  he  adds  the  kindly  warning :  — 

"  And  therfore,  who-so  list  it  nat  y-here, 
Turne  over  the  leef,  and  chese  another  tale." 

The  circumstances  of  Chaucer's  life,  as  will  have  been 
noted,  were  favorable  for  the  work  he  was  to  do  in  Eng- 
lish literature.  Langland  wrote  for  the  common  people ; 
Gower  addressed  himself  to  the  educated ;  Chaucer,  with 
a  broader  spirit,  prepared  his  works  for  every  class.  His 
diligence  as  a  student,  his  familiarity  with  the  best  society 
of  his  time,  and  his  wide  experience  as  a  man  of  affairs 
at  home  and  abroad  gave  him  great  mental  breadth. 
When  he  reached  the  full  maturity  of  his  powers,  he  was 
admirably  equipped  in  language,  knowledge,  and  culture 
to  produce  works  of  surpassing  excellence.  In  the  four- 
teenth century,  various  dialects,  as  we  have  seen,  existed 
in  England ;  but  from  this  linguistic  confusion,  to  use  the 
words  of  Marsh,  "  The  influence  and  example  of  Chaucer 
did  more  to  rescue  his  native  tongue  than  any  other  single 
cause ;  and  if  we  compare  his  dialect  with  that  of  any 
writer  of  an  earlier  date,  we  shall  find  that  in  compass, 
flexibility,  expressiveness,  grace,  and  in  all  the  higher 
qualities  of  poetical  diction,  he  gave  it  at  once  the  ut- 
most perfection  which  the  materials  at  his  hand  would 
admit    of."      He    made   the    Midland    dialect,    which    he 


GEOFFREY  CHAUCER.  59 

used  in  common  with  Gower  and  Wycliffe,  the  national 
language. 

Chaucer's  literary  career  may  be  divided  into  three 
periods.  The  first  period,  which  extends  to  his  Italian 
journey  in  1372,  is  characterized  by  the  influence  of 
French  models.  The  two  most  important  works  of  this 
period  are  the  "  Book  of  the  Duchesse,"  written  in  1369 
on  the  death  of  Blanche,  the  first  wife  of  John  of  Gaunt, 
and  a  translation  of  the  "  Roman  de  la  Rose,"  a  poem  of 
twenty-two  thousand  lines  dating  from  the  preceding 
century.  It  is  an  allegorical  presentation  of  "the  whole 
art  of  love."  Only  a  part  of  Chaucer's  translation,  which 
follows  the  original  closely,  has  been  preserved. 

The  second  period,  extending  from  1373  to  1384,  is 
characterized  by  an  Itahan  influence,  which  showed  itself 
in  a  more  refined  taste  and  more  elegant  handling  of  ma- 
terial. Within  this  period,  Chaucer  went  to  Italy  on  three 
different  diplomatic  missions.  It  is  possible  that  he  met 
Boccaccio  and  Petrarch.  Be  that  as  it  may,  his  mission 
evidently  led  to  a  greater  interest  in  Italian  literature, 
which  was  then  the  most  notable  in  Europe,  and  from 
which  he  borrowed  some  of  his  choicest  stories.  To  the 
Italian  period  are  to  be  ascribed,  among  other  poems, 
"Troilus  and  Criseyde,"  taken  from  Boccaccio,  and  the 
"  Hous  of  Fame,"  in  which  the  influence  of  Dante  can 
be  clearly  seen.  Italy  helped  Chaucer  to  unfold  and 
mature  his  strong  native  powers. 

The  third  period  in  his  literary  career  is  distinctly 
English.  Instead  of  depending  upon  foreign  models, 
the  poet  walked  independently  in  his  conscious  strength. 
It  was  during  this  period,  extending  from  about  1384  to 


6o  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

the  time  of  his  death,  that  his  greatest  work  —  the  "Can- 
terbury Tales" — was  produced.  The  idea  of  the  work 
seems  to  have  been  suggested  by  Boccaccio's  "  Decam- 
eron." During  the  prevalence  of  the  plague  in  Florence, 
in  1348,  seven  ladies  and  three  gentlemen,  all  young,  rich, 
and  cultivated,  retire  to  a  beautiful  villa  a  few  miles  from 
the  city  ;  and  in  order  to  pass  the  time  more  agreeably 
in  their  seclusion,  they  relate  to  one  another  a  series  of 
tales.     Such  is  the  plan  of  the  "  Decameron." 

Chaucer  adopted  the  idea  of  a  succession  of  stories, 
but  invented  a  happier  occasion  for  their  narration.  One 
evening  in  April  a  company  of  twenty-nine  pilgrims,  of 
various  conditions  in  hfe,  meet  at  the  Tabard,  a  London 
inn,  on  their  way  to  the  shrine  of  Thomas  a  Becket  at 
Canterbury.  At  supper  the  jolly,  amiable  host  offers  to 
accompany  them  as  guide ;  and  in  order  to  relieve  the 
tedium  of  the  journey,  he  proposes  that  each  one  shall 
tell  two  tales  on  the  way  to  the  tomb  and  the  same  num- 
ber on  their  return.  The  one  narrating  the  best  tale  is 
to  receive  a  supper  at  the  expense  of  the  others. 

The  poet  joins  the  party;  and  in  the  "Prologue"  he 
gives  us,  with  great  artistic  and  dramatic  power,  a 
description  of  the  pilgrims.  The  various  classes  of  Eng- 
lish society  —  a  knight,  a  lawyer,  a  doctor,  an  Oxford 
student,  a  miller,  a  prioress,  a  monk,  a  farmer,  and 
others  —  are  all  placed  before  us  with  marvellous  dis- 
tinctness. It  is  a  living  picture  of  contemporary  life, 
showing  us  the  features,  dress,  manners,  customs,  and 
social  and  religious  interests  of  the  English  people 
in  the  latter  half  of  the  fourteenth  century.  Nothing 
escapes  the  microscopic  scrutiny  of   the  poet.     Yet  with 


GEOFFREY  CHAUCER.  6 1 

this  keenness  of  observation  and  wonderful  power  to 
detect  the  peculiarities  and  foibles  of  men,  there  is  no 
admixture  of  cynicism.  There  is  humor  and  satire,  but 
they  are  thornless.  All  of  Chaucer's  later  writings  are 
pervaded  by  an  atmosphere  of  genial  humor,  kindness, 
tolerance,  humanity. 

Chaucer  begins  his  sketches  of  the  Canterbury  pil- 
grims with  the  knight,  a  model  of  chivalrous  heroism. 
Notwithstanding  the  great  achievements  of  the  knight 
in  various  parts  of  Europe  and  Africa,  he  still  — 

"  Was  of  his  port  as  meke  as  is  a  mayde. 
He  nevere  yit  no  vileinye  ne  sayde 
In  al  his  lyf  unto  no  maner  wight. 
He  was  a  verray  perfight  gentil  knight." 

The  portrait  of  the  prioress,  Madame  Eglantine,  — 
"  That  of  hire  smylyng  was  ful  symple  and  coy,"  — 

exhibits  the  poet's  close  observation  :  — 

"  At  mete  wel  i-taught  was  sche  withalle ; 
Sche  leet  no  morsel  from  hire  lippes  falle, 

Ne  wette  hire  fyngres  in  hire  sauce  deepe.  ^ 

****** 

But  for  to  speken  of  hire  conscience, 
Sche  was  so  charitable  and  so  pitous 
Sche  wolde  weepe  if  that  sche  sawe  a  mous 
Caught  in  a  trappe,  if  it  were  deed  or  bledde." 

The  decadence  of  the  church  —  the  love  of  ease, 
pleasure,  wealth,  and  power,  that  had  taken  possession 
of  many  of  its  representatives  —  is  reflected  in  the 
sketches  of  the  monk,  the  friar,  and  the  pardoner, — 

"Whose  walet  lay  byforn  him  in  his  lappe, 
Bret-ful  of  pardoun  come  from  Rome  al  hoot." 


62  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

The  friar  was  a  licentiate  of  his  order,  and  — 

"  Ful  sweetely  herde  he  confessioun, 
And  plesaunt  was  his  absolucioun ; 
He  was  an  esy  man  to  geve  penaunce, 
Ther  as  he  wiste  have  a  good  pitaunce ; 
For  unto  a  poure  ordre  for  to  give 
Is  signe  that  a  man  is  wel  i-schrive, 
For  if  he  gaf,  he  dorste  make  avaunt, 
He  wiste  that  a  man  was  repentaunt." 

But   in   contrast   with   these    unworthy  representatives 

of   the   church   stands   the  "  poure   Persoun  of   a   toun," 

showing  us  that  genuine  piety  was  not  extinct.     Chaucer 

seems  to  dwell  with  tender  partiality  upon  the  portrait :  — 

"  A  good  man  was  ther  of  religioun, 
And  was  a  poure  Persoun  of  a  toun  ; 
But  riche  he  was  of  holy  thought  and  werke. 
He  was  also  a  lerned  man,  a  clerk. 

He  waytede  after  no  pompe  and  reverence, 
Ne  makede  him  a  spiced  conscience, 
But  Cristes  lore,  and  his  apostles  twelve. 
He  taught,  but  first  he  folwede  it  himselve." 

Among  other  characters  that  must  be  dismissed  with 

a  word  is  the  Oxford  student,  — 

"  As  lene  was  his  hors  as  is  a  rake. 
And  he  was  not  right  fat,  I  undertake." 

And  the  lawyer,  — 

"  Nowher  so  besy  a  man  as  he  ther  nas. 
And  yit  he  seemede  besier  than  he  was." 

And  the  doctor,  — 

"  Who  kepte  that  he  wan  in  pestilence : 
For  gold  in  physik  is  a  cordial. 
Therefore  he  loved  gold  in  special." 


GEOFFREY  CHAUCER.  63 

The  tales  that  follow  the  "  Prologue"  —  the  whole  num- 
ber was  never  completed  —  are  admirably  adapted  to  the 
character  of  the  narrators.  They  include  the  whole  circle 
of  mediaeval  literature, — the  romance  of  chivalry,  the 
legends  of  saints,  the  apologue  and  allegorical  story,  the 
theological  treatise,  and  the  coarse  tale  of  immorality 
and  cunning.  The  tales  are  told  with  ease,  rapidity,  and 
grace.  They  abound  in  humor  and  pathos ;  and  among 
all  the  works  composed  on  the  same  general  plan,  the 
"  Canterbury  Tales  "  is  greatest. 


64  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


ADDENDUM   ON   CHAUCER'S   DICTION   AND 
VERSIFICATION. 

The  language  of  Chaucer  exhibits  the  fusion  of  Teutonic  and  French 
elements.  Dropping  most  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  inflections,  it  passes 
from  a  synthetic  to  an  analytic  condition,  in  which  the  relations  of 
words  are  expressed,  not  by  different  terminations,  but  by  separate 
words.  It  is  essentially  modern,  but  the  following  peculiarities  are  to 
be  noted.  The  plural  of  nouns  is  usually  formed  by  the  ending  es, 
which  is  pronounced  as  a  distinct  syllable ;  but  in  words  of  more  than 
one  syllable,  the  ending  is  s.  Instead  of  es,  we  sometimes  meet  with 
is  and  Jis.  Some  nouns  which  originally  ended  in  an  have  en  or  n; 
as,  asscken,  ashes  ;  been,  bees  ;  eyen,  eyes.  The  possessive  or  genitive 
case,  singular  and  plural,  is  usually  formed  by  adding  es ;  as,  his  lordes 
werre  (wars)  ;  foxes  tales.  But  en  is  sometimes  used  in  the  plural ;  as, 
hiseyen  sight.  The  dative  case  singular  ends  in  e;  2iS,  holte,  bedde. 
The  adjective  is  inflected.  After  demonstrative  and  possessive  adjec- 
tives and  the  definite  article  the  adjective  takes  the  ending  e;  as,  the 
yonge  sonne ;  his  halfe  cours.  But  in  adjectives  of  more  than  one 
syllable  this  e  is  usually  dropped.  The  plural  of  adjectives  is  formed 
by  adding  e;  as,  smale  fowles.  But  adjectives  of  more  than  one 
syllable,  and  all  adjectives  in  the  predicate,  omit  the  c.  The  compara- 
tive is  formed  by  the  addition  of  er,  though  the  Anglo-Saxon  form  re 
is  found  in  a  few  words ;  as,  derre,  dearer ;  ferre,  farther.  The  per- 
sonal pronouns  are  as  follows  :  — 


SINGULAR. 

PLURAL. 

Norn. 

I,  ich,  ik 

we 

Poss. 
Obj. 

min  (myn),  mi  (my) 
me 

our,  cure 
us 

Nom. 
Poss. 
Obj. 

thou  (thow,  tow) 
thin  (thyn),  thi  (thy) 
the,  thee 

ye 

your,  youre 

yow,  you 

GEOFFREY  CHAUCER.  65 


Masculine. 

Fefninine. 

Neuter, 

All  Genders. 

Nom.     he 
Poss.      his 
Obj.       him 

she,  sche 
hire,  hir 
hire,  hir,  here 

hit,  it,  yt 

his 

hit,  it,  yt 

thei,  they 
here,  her,  hir 
hem 

The  present  indicative  pkiral  of  verbs  ends  in  en  or  e;  as,  we  loven 
or  love.  The  infinitive  ends  in  en  or  e;  as,  speken,  speke,  to  speak. 
The  present  participle  usually  ends  in  yng  or  ynge.  The  past  participle 
of  strong  verbs  ends  in  en  or  e,  and  (as  well  as  the  past  participle  of 
weak  verbs)  is  often  preceded  by  the  prefix  /  or  /,  answering  to  the 
Anglo-Saxon  and  modern  German  ge ;  as,  /ronne,  yclept.  The  following 
negative  forms  deserve  attention :  nam,  am  not ;  nys,  is  not ;  nas, 
was  not ;  nere.,  were  not ;  nath,  hath  not ;  nadde,  had  not ;  nylle,  will 
not ;  nolde,  would  not ;  nat,  not,  noot,  knows  not.  Adverbs  are  formed 
from  adjectives  by  adding  e;  as,  bright e,  brightly  ;  deepe,  deeply. 

The  vowel  sounds  are  closely  akin  to  French  and  German.  They 
may  be  indicated  as  follows:  a  long  =  a  m  father ;  a  short  =  a  in 
aha.  £"long  =  «  in  date;  e  short  =  e  \x\.  bed.  /long  =  ee  in  sleep  ; 
i  short  =  /  in  pin.  O  long  =  <?  in  note ;  o  short  =  0  in  not.  U  long 
=  French  21  or  German  il;  u  short  =  //  in  /////.  Ai,  ei  —  ei  in  veil. 
Au,  aw  —  ow  in  now.     On,  ow  =  on  in  tour. 

Versification.  —  The  prevailing  metre  in  the  "Canterbury  Tales"  is 
iambic  pentameter  in  rhyming  couplets.  Occasionally  there  are  eleven 
syllables  in  a  line,  and  sometimes  only  nine.  Short,  unemphatic 
syllables  are  often  slurred  over ;  as,  — 

"  Sche  gad  |  ereth  flour  |  es  par  |  ty  white  |  and  rede." 

Words  from  the  French  usually  retain  their  native  pronunciation ; 
that  is,  are  accented  on  the  last  syllable.  Final  e  is  usually  sounded 
as  a  distinct  syllable  except  before  h,  a  following  vowel,  in  the  personal 
pronouns  oitre,  youre,  hire,  here,  and  in  many  polysyllables.  The  ed 
of  the  past  indicative  and  past  participle,  and  the  es  of  the  plural  and 
of  the  genitive,  form  separate  syllables. 

In  exemplification  of  the  foregoing  rules,  the  opening  lines  of  the  ' 
"Prologue"  are  here  divided  into  their  component  iambics :  — 

"  Whan  that  |  April  |  le.  with  |  his  schow  |  res  swoote 
The  drought  |  of  Marche  |  hath  per  |  ced  to  |  the  roote. 
And  ba  |  thed  eve  |  ry  veyne  |  in  swich  |  licour. 
Of  which  I  vertue  |  engen  |  dred  is  |  the  flour; 

F 


66  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Whan  Ze  j  phirus  |  eek  with  |  his  swe  |  te  breethe 

Enspi  I  red  hath  |  in  eve  |  ry  holte  ]  and  heethe 

The  ten  |  dre  crop  |  pes,  and  |  the  yon  |  ge  sonne 

Hath  in  |  the  Ram  |  his  hal  |  fe  cours  |  i-ronne, 

And  sma  |  le  fow  |  les  ma  |  ken  me  |  lodie, 

That  sle  |  pen  al  |  the  night  |  with  o  |  pen  eye, 

So  pri  I  keth  hem  |  nature  |  in  here  |  corages :  — 

Thanne  Ion  |  gen  folk  |  to  gon  |  on  pil  |  grimages, 

And  pal  |  mers  for  |  to  see  |  ken  straun  |  ge  strondes, 

To  fer  I  ne  hal  |  wes,  couthe  |  in  son  |  dry  londes ; 

And  spe  |  cially  |  from  eve  |  ry  schi  |  res  ende 

Of  En  I  gelond  |  to  Caunt  |  terbmy  |  they  wende, 

The  ho  I  ly  blis  |  ful  mar  |  tir  for  |  to  seeke, 

That  hem  |  hath  holp  |  en  whan  |  that  they  |  were  seeke." 


FIRST   CREATIVE   PERIOD. 


PRINCIPAL  WRITERS. 

Pre-Elizabethan.  -V  William  Caxton  (1422- 1491).  First  English 
printerj^edited  aiid  printed  ninety-nine  works. 

YSir  Thomas  More  (1478-1535).  Lord  Chancellor,  author  of 
"Utqpia"  (1516)  and  "History  of  King  Edward  V."  (1513). 

V Henry  Howard,  Earl  of  Surrey  (1517-1547).  Poet  who  introduced 
bMnk  verse  and  the  sonnet  into  English  poetry. 

>!  Sir  Thomas  Wyat  (1503-1542).  Poet,  satirist,  sonneteer,  strictly 
followinp-  Italian  models. 


'«5 


Elizabethan  Prose. —Roger  Ascham  (15 15-1568).  Tutor  to 
Queen  Elizabeth,  author  of  •' Toxophilus "'  (1545)  and  the  "Schole- 
master"  (1570). 

John  Lyly  (1553-1606).     Author  of  "  Euphues  "  (1580),  and  drama- 
tist.- 
\  Sir  Philip  Sidney  (1554-1586).     Author  of  "Arcadia"  (1590)  and 
"The  Defense  of  Poesie"  (1595). 

Richard  Hooker  (i 553-1600).  Clergyman,  and  author  of  "Eccle- 
siastical Polity  ■'  (1592). 

\  Sir  Walter  Ralei^i  ( 1 552-1618) .  Soldier,  sailor,  courtier,  statesman, 
historian,  poet.  Author  of  "Discovery  of  Guiana"  (1596)  and  "His- 
tory of  the  World"  (161 4). 

Poetry.  -^  Thomas  Sackville,  Earl  of  Dorset  (i  536-1608) .  Author 
of  "Mirror  for  Magistrates"  (1563)  and  of  first  English  tragedy, 
"Gorboduc,"  acted  before  Queen  Elizabeth  at  Whiteliall  in  1561. 

Samuel  Daniel  (1562-1619).     Author  of  "  Civil  Wars  "  (1595-1604), 

;  poetical  history  of  the  Wars  of  the  Roses. 
Michael    Drayton    (1563-1631).     Author  of  "  Polyolbion "    (1613- 
1622),  a  poem  in  thirtv  books  descriptive  of  the  topography  of  England. 

67 


68  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

/ 

Drama.  —  Christopher  Marlowe  (i 564-1 593).  Author  of  "Tam- 
burlaine  the  Great,"  "  The  Rich  Jew  of  Maha,"'  and  •'  Doctor  John 
Faustus  "  ;  a  dramatist  of  great  power,  who  has  been  called  "  a  second 
Shakespeare." 

Robert  Greene  (i  560-1 592).  Author  of  "Alphonsus.  King  of 
Aragon,"  and  other  plays.  In  a  pamphlet  entitled  "A  Groat's  Worth 
of  Wit,"  he  rails  at  Shakespeare  as  "  an  upstart  crow,  beautified  with 
01^  feathe'rs." 

V  Ben  Jonson  (1573-1637).  Friend  of  Shakespeare,  and  author  of 
many  dramas,  among  which  are  "  Every  Man  in  his  Humor,"  "  Cyn- 
thia's Revels,"  "  Sejanus,"  and  "The  Alchemist." 

Philip  Massinger  (i 584-1 640).  Author  of  thirty-eight  dramas, 
among  which  are  "  The  City  Madam,"  "The  Fatal  Dowry,"  and  "A 
New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts."  The  last  still  keeps  its  place  upon 
the  stage. 

John  Webster  (date  of  birth  and  death  unknown)  was  strong  in 
handling  terrible  subjects.  Among  his  plays  are  "  The  Duchess  of 
Malfi"  and  "The  White  Devil,"  which  Hazlitt  says  come  near  to 
Shakespeare. 

Thomas  Dekker  (i 570-1637).  Author  of  twenty-eight  plays.  His 
"  Satiromastix"'''  satirizes  Ben  Jonson.  In  another  of  his  plays  occur 
the  oft-quoted  lines,  — 

"  The  best  of  men 

That  e'er  wore  earth  about  him  was  a  sufferer ; 
A  soft,  meek,  patient,  humble,  tranquil  spirit ; 
The  first  true  gentleman  that  ever  breathed." 

yFrancis  Beaumont  (1586-1615)  and  John  Fletcher  (1579-1625) 
were  joint  authors  of  fifty-two  plays,  among  the  best  of  which  are  "  The 
Maid's  Tragedy,"  "  Cupid's  Revenge,"  and  "  Philaster." 

GREAT   REPRESENTATIVE   AUTHORS. 

Edmund  Spenser.  Francis  Bacon. 

William  Shakespeare. 


III. 

FIRST  CREATIVE  PERIOD. 

(1558-1625.) 

Interest    of  period  —  Barren   era  after  Chaucer  —  Revival  of  learning 

—  Inventions  —  Caxton  and  the  printing-press  —  The  Reformation 

—  Condition  of  England  —  Elizabeth's  character  — General  prog- 
ress—Influence on  thought  and  character  —  Pre-Elizabethan  lit- 
erature —  Old  ballads  —  Thomas  More  —  Earl  of  Surrey  —  Sir 
Thomas  Wyat  —  Elizabethan  outburst  of  literature  —  Ascham  — 
Lyly  — Sidney  — Hooker  — Raleigh— Elizabethan  lyrics— Sackville, 
Daniel,  Drayton  —  Origin  of  drama  —  Miracle  plays  —  Moralities  — 
First  comedy  and  tragedy  —  Theatres  —  Minor  dramatists  — 
Ben  Jonson  —  Edmund  Spenser  —  Francis  Bacon  —  WilliaiM 
Shakespeare. 

This  period,  which  includes  the  reigns  of  Elizabeth  and 
James  I.,  is  one  of  great  interest.  In  the  long  course  of 
English  literature  there  is  no  other  period  that  deserves 
more  careful  attention.  It  was  the  natural  outcome  of 
forces  that  had  been  accumulating  for  a  hundred  years. 
It  is  sometimes  called  the  Elizabethan  era,  because  the 
successful  reign  of  that  queen  supplied  the  opportunity  for 
a  splendid  manifestation  of  literary  genius.  Peace,  prosper- 
ity, and  general  intelligence  are  the  necessary  conditions 
for  the  creation  of  a  great  national  literature  —  a  truth 
that  finds  abundant  exemplification  in  the  age  of  Pericles 
in  Athens,  of  Augustus  in  Rome,  and  of  Louis  XIV.  in 

France.     While  these  conditions  do   not   explain    genius, 

69 


70  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

which  must  be  referred  to  the  immediate  agency  of  the 
Creator,  they  make  it  possible  for  genius  to  realize  its  best 
capabilities.  The  reign  of  Elizabeth,  with  its  increase 
of  intelligence  and  national  power,  furnished  the  occasion 
and  the  stimulus  under  which  Spenser,  Shakespeare, 
and  Bacon  produced  their  immortal  works.  At  one  great 
bound  English  literature  reached  an  excellence  that  for 
variety  of  interest  and  weight  of  thought  has  scarcely 
been  surpassed. 

The  century  and  a  half  lying  between  the  death  of 
Chaucer  and  the  accession  of  Elizabeth  was  an  era  of 
preparation.  The  potential  forces  that  had  called  the 
father  of  English  poetry  into  being  seemed  to  subside,  and 
not  a  single  writer  in  either  prose  or  poetry  attained  to  the 
first  or  even  to  the  second  rank.  The  cause  of  this  liter- 
ary barrenness  is  to  be  found  partly  in  the  repression  of 
free  inquiry  by  the  church  and  Parliament,  partly  in  the 
social  disorders  connected  with  the  Wars  of  the  Roses, 
and  partly  in  the  varied  and  important  interests  that  en- 
gaged general  attention. 

The  century  preceding  the  accession  of  Elizabeth  was 
an  era  of  awakened  mind  and  intellectual  acquisition. 
The  revival  of  learning  was  an  event  of  vast  importance, 
not  only  in  the  intellectual  life  of  England,  but  also  of  all 
Europe.  It  had  its  central  point  in  the  capture  of  Con- 
stantinople by  the  Turks  in  1453,  which  caused  many 
Greek  scholars  to  seek  refuge  in  Italy.  As  ancient  learn- 
ing had  already  begun  to  receive  attention  there,  these 
scholarly  fugitives  were  warmly  welcomed.  Noble  and 
wealthy  patronage  was  not  wanting ;  and  soon  the  classic 
literature  of  Greece  and   Rome  was  studied  with  almost 


FIRST   CREATIVE  PERIOD.  yi 

incredible  enthusiasm.  The  popes  received  the  new 
learning  under  their  protection ;  libraries  were  founded, 
manuscripts  collected,  and  academies  established. 

Eager  scholars  from  England,  France,  and  Germany  sat 
at  the  feet  of  Italian  masters,  in  order  afterward  to  bear 
beyond  the  Alps  the  precious  seed  of  the  new  culture.  Its 
beneficent  effects  soon  became  apparent.  Greek  was  intro- 
duced into  the  great  universities  of  England.  Erasmus, 
the  most  brilliant  scholar  of  his  time,  taught  at  Oxford. 
It  became  the  fashion  to  study  the  ancient  classics,  and 
Elizabeth,  Jane  Grey,  and  other  noble  ladies  are  said  to 
have  been  conversant  with  Plato,  Xenophon,  and  Cicero 
in  the  original.  The  taste,  the  eloquence,  the  refined  lit- 
erary culture,  of  Athens  and  pagan  Rome  were  restored  to 
the  world ;  and  "  gradually,  by  an  insensible  change,  men 
were  raised  to  the  level  of  the  great  and  healthy  minds 
which  had  freely  handled  ideas  of  all  kinds  fifteen  centuries 
before." 

The  remarkable  inventions  and  discoveries  of  the  fif- 
teenth century  contributed,  in  a  noteworthy  degree,  to 
awaken  intellect  and  lift  men  to  a  higher  plane  of  knowl- 
edge. The  printing-press  was  invented  about  the  middle 
of  the  century,  and  in  less  than  a  decade  it  was  brought  to 
such  perfection  that  the  whole  Bible  appeared  in  type 
in  1456.  It  became  a  ])owerful  aid  in  the  revival  of  learn- 
ing. It  at  once  supplanted  the  tedious  and  costly  process 
of  copying  books  by  hand,  and  brought  the  repositories  of 
learning  within  reach  of  the  common  people. 

The  printing-press  was  introduced  into  England  about 
I  1476,  by  William  Caxton,  who  had  learned  the  art  of 
j  printing   in    Bruges.     The   following   year   appeared  the 


72  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

"  Dictes  and  Notable  Wise  Sayings  of  the  Philosophers," 
which  is  probably  the  first  book  printed  in  England.  Cax- 
ton  contributed  materially  to  the  advancement  of  English 
letters.  He  was  himself  a  translator  and  editor.  He 
printed  no  fewer  than  ninety-nine  works,  among  which 
are  Chaucer's  "Canterbury  Tales,"  Gower's  "  Confessio 
Amantis,"  and  Malory's  "  Morte  d' Arthur,"  from  which 
Tennyson  drew  the  materials  for  his  "  Idyls  of  the  King." 

Gunpowder,  which  had  been  invented  the  previous  cen- 
tury, came  into  common  use,  and  wrought  a  salutary 
change  in  the  organization  of  society.  It  destroyed  the 
military  prestige  of  the  knightly  order,  brought  the  lower 
classes  into  greater  prominence,  and  contributed  to  the 
abolition  of  serfdom.  The  mariner's  compass  greatly  fur- 
thered navigation.  Instead  of  creeping  along  the  shores 
of  the  Mediterranean  or  the  Atlantic,  seamen  boldly  ven- 
tured upon  unknown  waters.  In  1492  Columbus  discovered 
America ;  and  six  years  later  Vasco  da  Gama,  rounding 
the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  sailed  across  the  Indian  Ocean 
to  Calcutta.  Voyages  of  discovery  followed  in  rapid  suc- 
cession, new  continents  were  added  to  the  map,  and  the 
general  store  of  knowledge  was  greatly  increased. 

The  greatest  event  in  history  since  the  advent  of  Christ 
is  the  Reformation  of  the  sixteenth  century.  It  was  essen- 
tially a  religious  movement,  which  sought  to  correct  the 
errors  in  doctrine  and  practice  that  had  crept  into  the 
church  and  long  given  rise  to  deep  dissatisfaction.  In 
connection  with  the  cooperating  influences  spoken  of  in 
the  preceding  paragraphs,  the  Reformation  began  a  new 
stage  in  human  progress,  marking  the  close  of  the  Middle 
Ages  and  the  dawn  of  the  modern  era.     There  is  scarcely 


FIRST   CREATIVE  PERIOD.         ,  73 

an  important  interest  that  it  did  not  touch.  It  secured 
greater  purity  and  spirituality  in  religion,  contributed 
much  to  the  elevation  of  the  laity  and  the  advancement  of 
woman,  confirmed  the  separation  of  the  secular  and  the 
ecclesiastical  power,  established  the  right  of  liberty  of 
conscience,  gave  an  extraordinary  impulse  to  literature 
and  science,  and,  in  a  word,  promoted  all  that  distinguishes 
and  ennobles  our  modern  civilization.  From  the  time 
of  Spenser  and  Bacon  there  has  been  no  great  English 
writer  who  has  not  shown,  directly  or  indirectly,  the 
influence  of  the  Protestant  Reformation. 

When  the  reformatory  movement,  which  began  with 
Martin  Luther  in  Germany  in  15 17,  extended  to  England, 
it  found  a  receptive  soil.  Traditions  of  Wycliffe  still  sur- 
vived ;  the  new  learning  was  friendly  to  reform  ;  and  men 
of  high  civil  and  ecclesiastical  rank  had  inveighed  against 
existing  abuses.  Though  Henry  VIII.  at  first  remained 
faithful  to  the  Roman  Catholic  church,  and  even  wrote 
a  book  against  the  German  reformer,  he  afterward,  for 
personal  and  selfish  reasons,  withdrew  his  support,  and 
encouraged  the  reformatory  work  of  his  ministers  and  of 
Parliament.  In  1534  the  Act  of  Supremacy  was  passed, 
by  which  the  king  was  made  the  supreme  head  of  the 
Church  of  England,  and  empowered  to  "  repress  and 
amend  all  such  errors  and  heresies  as,  by  any  manner 
of  spiritual  jurisdiction,  might  and  ought  to  be  lawfully 
reformed." 

Without  attempting  to  trace  the  general  effects  of  the 
Reformation  in  England  —  a  factor  that  enters  with  a 
moulding  influence  into  all  the  subsequent  history  of  the 
country  —  some  of  its  immediate  results  upon  English  lit- 


74 


ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


erature  are  briefly  indicated.  In  1526  Tyndale  published 
his  translation  of  the  New  Testament,  which  was  followed 
soon  afterward  by  other  portions  of  the  Bible.  Nearly 
every  year,  for  half  a  century,  saw  a  new  edition  issue 
from  the  press.  Tyndale' s  translation  was  made  with 
great  ability,  and  served  as  the  basis  of  subsequent  ver- 
sions until,  in  161 1,  King  James's  version,  embodying 
all  the  excellences  of  previous  efforts,  gained  general 
acceptance. 

The  Scriptures  in  English  were  seized  upon  with  great 
avidity  by  the  common  people.  The  results  were  far 
reaching  and  salutary.  The  study  of  the  Bible  stimulated 
mental  activity ;  its  precepts  ennobled  character  and  gov- 
erned conduct ;  its  language  improved  the  common  speech  ; 
and  its  treasures  of  history  and  poetry  added  to  the  popu- 
lar intelligence.  It  gave  an  impulse  to  general  education  ; 
and  it  became  at  once,  what  it  has  since  remained,  the 
occasion  of  high  scholarship  and  of  a  considerable  body  of 
literature.  Latimer,  whose  vigorous  sermons  advanced 
the  cause  of  the  Reformation  in  different  parts  of  England, 
is  a  type  of  the  unbroken  line  of  able  preachers  whose 
influence  since  upon  the  social,  moral,  and  intellectual  Hfe 
of  the  English  people  cannot  be  estimated.  Religious 
services  were  conducted  in  Enghsh ;  and  in  1549  the 
"  Book  of  Common  Prayer,"  which  has  been  absorbed  into 
the  life  of  succeeding  generations,  was  published,  and  its 
use,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other  forms,  prescribed  by  law. 
When  Elizabeth  ascended  the  throne  in  1558,  the  for- 
tunes of  England  were  at  a  low  ebb.  The  people  were  ex- 
asperated by  Mary's  misgovernment  and  persecution,  and 
the  bitter  animosity  between  Protestants  and  Catholics  was 


FIRST  CREATIVE  PERIOD.  75 

apparently  beyond  reconciliation.  Humiliated  by  defeat 
in  France,  the  country  was  threatened  with  invasion. 
There  was  neither  army  nor  navy.  "If  God  start  not 
forth  to  the  helm,"  wrote  the  Council  in  an  appeal  to  the 
country,  "  we  be  at  the  point  of*  greatest  misery  that  can 
happen  to  any  people,  which  is  to  become  thrall  to  a  for- 
eign nation."  By  the  marriage  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots, 
to  the  dauphin  of  France,  Scotland  became  a  new  menace. 
These  were  some  of  the  difficulties  Elizabeth  encountered 
on  assuming  the  sovereignty.  In  dealing  with  them  she 
showed  extraordinary  courage  and  wisdom  ;  and  in  a  long 
reign  of  forty-five  years  she  raised  England  to  the  front 
rank  among  European  nations,  and  awakened  in  the  Eng- 
lish people  an  aggressive  and  dauntless  spirit. 

As  a  woman,  the  character  of  Elizabeth  is  far  from 
admirable.  She  was  vain,  coarse,  haughty,  vindictive,  pro- 
fane, mendacious.  But  as  a  queen,  she  in  large  measure 
justified  the  esteem  in  which  she  has  been  generally  held. 
She  was  earnest,  prudent,  far-seeing,  wise,  and,  above  all, 
unselfishly  devoted  to  the  interests  of  her  realm.  She  sur- 
rounded herself  with  able  counsellors  ;  and,  as  a  rule,  her 
administration  was  characterized  by  a  spirit  of  moderation. 
She  extinguished  the  fires  of  jDcrsecution  that  had  been 
lighted  under  Mary ;  and,  though  exacting  outward  con- 
formity .to  the  established  religion,  she  made  no  inquisition 
into  the  private  opinions  of  her  people. 

England  gradually  became  Protestant  in  spirit  and  the 
head  of  the  Protestant  movement  in  Europe.  The  succes- 
sive dangers  arising  from  fanatical  conspiracies  were  hap- 
pily averted.  The  papal  bull  of  excommunication,  which 
absolved  the  English  people  from  their  allegiance  to  the 


76  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

queen,  came  to  nothing;  the  Jesuit  emissaries  failed  in 
their  attempt  to  incite  a  revolt ;  and  finally  the  combined 
efforts  of  the  Papacy  and  of  Spain  to  subdue  England  and 
reestablish  Catholicism  by  force  were  frustrated  by  the 
destruction  of  the  Armada.  With  these  triumphs  over 
foes  at  home  and  abroad,  England  acquired  a  new  self- 
respect  and  confidence,  and  entered  upon  her  career  of 
maritime  and  commercial  preeminence. 

In  spite  of  the  difficulties  and  dangers  belonging  to  the 
earlier  years  of  Elizabeth's  reign,  the  interests  of  the  peo- 
ple were  wisely  cared  for.  When  coming  into  conflict  with 
Parliament,  the  queen  gracefully  surrendered  her  despotic 
tendencies.  She  abolished  monopolies  that  had  abused 
their  privileges  and  become  oppressive.  Salutary  laws 
were  passed  for  the  employment  of  the  mendicant  classes, 
which  the  cruel  pohcy  of  preceding  reigns  had  left  as  a 
residuum  of  discontent  and  menace  to  the  country. 

The  condition  of  the  middle  class  was  greatly  improved. 
Better  methods  of  tiHing  the  soil  gave  a  new  impetus  to 
agriculture.  The  growth  of  manufactures  was  rapid.  In- 
stead of  sending  her  fleeces  to  Holland,  England  developed 
every  department  of  woollen  manufacture.  The  mineral 
products  of  the  country  —  iron,  coal,  tin  —  were  increased. 
With  the  wars  in  the  Netherlands,  which  destroyed  for  a 
time  the  trade  of  Antwerp  and  Bruges,  London  became  the 
commercial  centre  of  Europe.  At  her  wharves  were  found 
the  gold  and  sugar  of  the  New  World,  the  cotton  of  India, 
and  the  silk  of  the  East.  English  vessels  made  their  way 
everywhere  —  catching  cod  at  Newfoundland,  seeking  new 
trade  centres  in  the  Baltic,  and  extending  commerce  in  the 
Mediterranean. 


FIRST  CREATIVE  PERIOD.  yy 

This  activity  in  agriculture,  manufacture,  and  commerce 
brought  wealth  and  comfort.  The  dwellings  were  im- 
proved. Carpets  took  the  place  of  rushes  ;  the  introduc- 
tion of  chimneys  brought  the  pleasures  of  the  fireside  ; 
gloomy  castles,  built  for  military  strength,  gave  place  to 
elegant  palaces,  surrounded  by  Italian  gardens.  Gram- 
mar schools  and  colleges  were  established  ;  and  the  prints 
ing-press,  freely  used  for  the  promulgation  and  defence  of 
facts  and  opinions,  advanced  the  general  intelligence.  A 
learned  woman  herself,  Elizabeth  lent  her  influence  and 
that  of  her  court  to  the  cause  of  letters.  While  the 
dungeon  and  the  stake  were  crushing  out  intellectual 
freedom  in  Italy  and  Spain ;  while  France  was  distracted 
by  internal  religious  dissension ;  while  foreign  oppression 
was  destroying  the  trade  of  the  Netherlands,  —  England, 
under  the  prosperous  reign  of  Elizabeth,  was  constantly 
gaining  in  wealth,  intelligence,  and  power. 

These  outward  conditions  could  not  fail  to  have  an 
influence  upon  the  thought  and  feeling  of  the  English 
nation  and  to  manifest  themselves  in  the  literary  produc- 
tions of  the  time.  The  proud  success  achieved  by  Eng- 
land in  the  face  of  great  odds  naturally  aroused  a  vigorous 
and  dauntless  spirit.  The  Enghshman  of  that  day  be- 
came aggressive,  persisted  in  the  face  of  obstacles,  drew 
back  before  no  dangers,  despaired  of  no  success.  With 
the  growing  prominence  of  his  country,  his  views  became 
comprehensive  and  penetrating.  He  was  forced  to  think 
with  a  large  horizon.  Called  upon  to  deal  with  large 
interests,  his  intellect  expanded  and  his  character  became 
weighty  ;  engaged  in  conducting  vast  enterprises,  he  de- 
veloped great  executive  powers. 


yS  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Life  became  intense  and  rich  in  all  its  relations.  No 
interest,  whether  social,  political,  commercial,  or  religious, 
escaped  attention.  The  energies  of  the  English  people 
were  strung  to  the  highest  pitch,  and  wrought,  in  some 
departments,  the  best  results  of  which  the  English  mind 
is  capable.  Bacon  took  the  whole  circle  of  knowledge 
as  his  field  of  inquiry.  Spenser's  "  Faery  Queene,"  with 
its  unexampled  richness  of  imagination,  is  a  fountain  from 
which  the  poets  of  succeeding  generations  have  drawn 
inspiration.  And  Shakespeare,  with  his  many-sided  and 
inexhaustible  intellect,  stands  easily  at  the  head  of  the 
world's  great  dramatists.  With  its  great  achievements,  we 
may  well  call  this  Wv^  first  creative  period  in  our  literature. 

There  are  a  few  productions  and  a  few  writers  prior  to 
the  accession  of  Elizabeth  that  well  deserve  mention.  It 
was  during  the  period  between  Chaucer  and  the  "  Virgin 
Queen  "  that  the  most  famous  of  the  old  Enghsh  ballads 
were  written.  In  their  simplicity,  directness,  and  often 
crudeness  of  style,  they  possess  a  charm  that  a  more  cul- 
tivated age  cannot  successfully  imitate.  Not  a  few  of 
them  celebrate  the  fearless  conflicts  of  the  Scottish  border 
and  the  lawless  deeds  of  bold  freebooters.  Unwritten 
songs  of  the  people  —  of  the  "good  yeomanry"  they 
invoke  blessings  upon  —  they  were  recited  by  wandering 
minstrels,  and  handed  down  by  tradition  from  generation 
to  generation.  In  most  cases  their  authors  are  unknown  ; 
and  constantly  undergoing  changes  and  receiving  addi- 
tions, they  may  be  said,  not  to  have  been  composed,  but  to 
have  grown.  In  them  the  rude  life  of  the  times  —  the  law- 
lessness, daring,  fortitude,  passion  — is  graphically  depicted. 
Among   the   best    known  of   these   ballads    is  "  Chevy 


FIRST  CREATIVE  PERIOD.  79 

Chase,"  which  describes  with  great  simplicity  and  force 
a  battle  between  Lord  Percy  of  England  and  Earl  Douglas 
of  Scotland.  "  I  never  heard  the  old  song  of  Percy  and 
Douglas,"  wrote  Sir  Philip  Sidney  in  his  "  Defense  of 
Poesie,"  "that  I  found  not  my  heart  moved  more  than 
with  a  trumpet."  Of  a  later  version  Addison  wrote  an 
interesting  critique  in  the  Spectator.  In  its  oldest  form 
the  ballad  begins  as  follows  :  — 

"The  Perse  owt  off  Northombarlande, 

And  a  vowe  to  God  mayd  he, 
That  he  wold  hunte  in  the  mountayns 

Off  Chyviat  within  dayes  thre, 
In  the  mauger  of  doughte  Dogles, 

And  all  that  ever  with  him  be." 

Robin  Hood,  the  bold  outlaw  of  Sherwood  forest,  is 
the  centre  of  an  interesting  group  of  ballads.  For  a  long 
time  he  was  the  people's  ideal  hero.  Sir  Walter  Scott 
called  him  "  the  gentlest  thief  that  ever  was."  But  his 
popularity,  surpassing  that  of  any  EngHsh  king  of  the 
time,  was  due,  not  to  his  deeds  of  violence,  but  to  his 
courage,  love  of  fair  play,  and  open-handed  generosity. 
His  sympathies  were  with  the  yeomanry ;  he  took  the 
part  of  the  oppressed  ;  he  robbed  the  rich  to  give  to  the 
poor ;  and  though  a  good  Catholic,  who  would  hear  three 
masses  every  day,  he  hated  the  extortions  of  bishops 
and  monks.  There  is  no  rancor  in  Robin  Hood's  fighting. 
He  looks  upon  it  as  a  manly  test  of  strength,  and  with 
Saxon  honesty  disdains  to  take  any  unfair  advantage. 
He  jokes  with  his  antagonist,  and  after  the  fight  is  over 
takes  him  by  the  hand  and  receives  him  into  the  friend- 
ship of  frank  and  fearless  men. 


8o  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

"  Then  Robin  took  them  both  by  the  hands, 
And  danced  round  about  the  oke  tree : 
'  For  three  merry  men,  and  three  merry  men, 
And  three  merry  men  we  be/  " 

There  is  a  writer  of  prose  in  the  pre-Elizabethan  period 
who  produced  works  still  possessing  considerable  interest. 
Sir  Thomas  More,  who  was  called  in  his  day  the  greatest 
wit  in  England,  was  born  in  1478.  He  studied  Greek  at 
Oxford  under  Linacre  and  Grocyn,  enthusiastic  devotees 
of  the  new  learning.  For  a  time  he  stood  in  high  favor 
with  Henry  VI H.,  served  on  foreign  embassies,  became 
treasurer  of  the  Exchequer,  and  finally  rose  to  be  Lord 
High  Chancellor  in  place  of  Wolsey.  During  the  re- 
formatory movement  he  remained  a  zealous  adherent  of 
the  Papacy ;  and  when  he  refused  to  recognize  the  validity 
of  Henry's  marriage  with  Anne  Boleyn,  and  the  king's 
supremacy  over  the  English  church,  he  was  cast  into  the 
Tower  and  beheaded  in  1535. 

More  took  part  in  the  religious  agitation  of  the  time, 
and  wrote  several  theological  treatises,  which  are  not  free 
from  coarseness  and  rancor.  His  "  Life  of  Edward  the 
Fifth"  surpassed  in  clearness  and  purity  of  style  any  Eng- 
lish prose  that  had  preceded  it.  But  the  work  on  which 
his  fame  as  an  author  chiefly  rests  is  his  "  Utopia  "  —  the 
land  of  Nowhere  —  which  contributed  a  new  word  to  our 
language.  What  is  chimerical  or  fanciful  we  now  charac- 
terize as  Utopian.  The  "  Utopia,"  like  Plato's  "  Republic," 
which  probably  furnished  the  idea,  is  a  description  of  an 
ideal  commonwealth.  It  is  a  satire  on  the  existing  state  of 
society,  its  leading  political  and  social  regulations  being  the 
reverse  of  what  was  then  found  in  Europe.     Not  a  few  of 


FIRST   CREATIVE  PERIOD.  8 1 

the  salutary  changes  of  recent  times  were  anticipated  by 
the  genius  of  More.  In  an  age  of  religious  persecution, 
which  as  Lord  High  Chancellor  he  had  sanctioned,  he 
made  it  "  lawful  for  every  man  to  favor  and  follow  what 
religion  he  would,  and  that  he  might  do  the  best  he  could 
to  bring  others  to  his  opinion,  so  that  he  did  it  peaceably, 
gently,  quietly,  and  soberly,  without  hasty  and  contentious 
rebuking  and  inveighing  against  each  other." 

Among  the  pre-Elizabethan  poets  there  are  two  that 
deserve  particular  mention.  The  first  of  these  is  Henry 
Howard,  Earl  of  Surrey,  whose  writings  introduced  new 
elements  into  English  poetry.  Born  of  a  noble  family  in 
15 17,  spending  his  boyhood  at  Windsor  Castle,  educated 
at  Oxford,  he  received  the  best  culture  that  England  could 
give.  He  afterward  travelled  in  France  and  Italy,  and 
in  the  latter  country  he  famiharized  himself  with  the 
writings  of  Dante,  Petrarch,  and  Boccaccio.  To  his  other 
attainments  he  added  military  prowess,  and  in  1542  he  ac- 
companied the  expedition  led  by  his  father  which  ravaged 
the  south  of  Scotland.  Two  years  later  he  commanded  the 
English  army  in  an  expedition  against  Boulogne,  which  he 
captured. 

After  his  return  from  Scotland,  an  escapade,  which  in 
no  way  does  him  credit,  resulted  in  a  short  imprisonment, 
which  he  has  rendered  noteworthy  by  a  whimsical  poem. 
With  two  companions  he  had  gone  about  the  streets  of  Lon- 
don at  midnight,  indiscriminately  breaking  windows  by 
means  of  stone  bows.  Summoned  before  the  Privy  Coun- 
cil, he  pleaded  guilty,  and  was  sent  for  a  season  to  Fleet 
Prison.  There  he  wrote  a  little  "  Satire  against  the  Citi- 
zens of   London,"  in  which  he  explained  that  his  object 


82  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

was  to  warn  them  of  their  sins ;  and  since  preaching  had 

failed,  — 

"  By  unknown  means  it  likfed  me 

My  hidden  burthen  to  express, 

Whereby  it  might  appear  to  thee 

That  secret  sin  hath  secret  spite ; 

From  justice'  rod  no  fault  is  free, 

But  that  all  such  as  work  unright 

In  most  quiet  are  next  ill  rest ; 

In  secret  silence  of  the  night 

This  made  me  with  a  reckless  breast 

To  wake  thy  sluggards  with  my  bow." 

To  Surrey  belongs  the  merit  of  being  the  first  to 
introduce  blank  verse  and  the  sonnet  into  English  poe- 
try, both  of  which  he  borrowed  from  Italy.  Nearly  all 
his  poems  are  erotic ;  and  his  sonnets  have  as  their 
general  subject  the  "  fair'  Geraldine,"  whom  he  wor- 
shipped, it  seems,  with  an  unrequited  love.  The  following 
little  poem,  on  the  "  Means  to  Attain  Happy  Life,"  shows 
his  style  at  its  best :  — 

"  Martial,  the  things  that  do  attain 
The  happy  life  be  these,  I  find : 
The  riches  left,  not  got  with  pain  ; 
The  fruitful  ground,  the  quiet  mind, 

"  The  equal  friend  ;  no  grudge,  no  strife ; 
No  charge  of  rule,  nor  governance  ; 
Without  disease  the  healthful  life ; 
The  household  of  continuance  ; 

"The  mean  diet,  no  delicate  fare; 

True  wisdom  joined  with  simpleness, 
The  night  discharged  of  all  care. 
Where  wine  the  wit  may  not  oppress. 


FIRST   CREATIVE   PERIOD.  83 

"The  faithful  wife,  without  debate; 

Such  sleeps  as  may  beguile  the  night ; 
Contented  with  thine  own  estate, 

Ne  wish  for  death,  ne  fear  his  might." 

"An  English  Petrarch:  no  juster  title,"  says  Taine, 
"could  be  given  to  Surrey,  for  it  expresses  his  talent  as 
well  as  his  disposition." 

Sir  Thomas  Wyat,  an  intimate  friend  of  Surrey's,  and 
likewise  an  ornament  of  the  court  of  Henry  VIII.,  was 
born  in  Kent  in  1503.  He  studied  at  Cambridge  and 
Oxford,  where  he  took  his  degree  at  the  early  age  of 
fifteen,  and  afterward  travelled  extensively  on  the  Con- 
tinent. He  spoke  French,  Italian,  and  Spanish ;  and 
in  addition  to  his  literary  attainments  he  was  skilled  in 
all  knightly  accomplishments.  In  1539  he  was  sent  as 
an  ambassador  to  the  court  of  Charles  V.  in  Spain. 
Upon  his  death,  in  1542,  Surrey  wrote  an  elegy,  in  which 
he  traced  the  character  of  the  deceased  courtier  and 
poet  with  a  sympathetic  hand :  — • 

"  A  visage  stern  and  mild  ;  where  both  did  grow 
Vice  to  contemn,  in  virtue  to  rejoice ; 
Amid  great  storms,  whom  grace  assured  so, 

To  live  upright,  and  smile  at  Fortune's  choice." 

While  sharing  with  Surrey  the  honor  of  introducing  the 
Italian  sonnet  into  English  verse,  Wyat  has  the  distinction 
of  conforming  strictly  with  his  models.  All  his  sonnets, 
unlike  those  of  his  friend,  are  constructed  according  to  the 
rules  now  governing  that  difficult  species  of  verse.  The 
following  extract  from  a  poem,  "  How  to  Use  the  Court," 
will  illustrate  the  keenness  of  his  satire  :  — 


84  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

"  Flee  therefore  truth,  it  is  both  wealth  and  ease ; 

For  though  that  truth  of  every  man  hath  praise, 
Full  near  that  wind  goeth  truth  in  great  misease. 

Use  virtue,  as  it  goeth  now-a-days, 
In  word  alone  to  make  thy  language  sweet, 

And  of  thy  deed  yet  do  not  as  thou  says ; 
Else,  be  thou  sure,  thou  shalt  be  far  unmeet 

To  get  thy  bread,  each  thing  is  now  so  scant." 

"  In  the  latter  end  of  the  same  king  (Henry  the  eight) 
reigne,"  says  an  old  writer,  "  sprong  up  a  new  company 
of  courtly  makers  of  whom  Sir  Thomas  Wyat  the  elder 
and  Henry  Earle  of  Surrey  were  the  two  chieftains,  who 
having  travailed  into  Italy,  and  there  tasted  the  sweete 
and  stately  measures  and  stile  of  the  Italian  Poesie,  as 
novices  newly  crept  out  of  the  schools  of  Dante,  Ariosto, 
and  Petrarch,  they  greatly  polUshed  our  rude  and  homely 
manner  of  vulgar  Poesie,  from  that  it  had  bene  before, 
and  for  that  cause  may  justly  be  sayd  the  first  reformers 
of  our  English  meetre  and  stile." 

Coming  now  to  the  age  of  Ehzabeth,  to  which  has  been 
given  the  designation  of  the  First  Creative  Period,  we  find 
that  literature  suddenly  rises  in  amount  and  excellence. 
The  forces  slowly  accumulating  for  a  century  quickly 
burst  into  blossom.  The  number  of  writers,  embracing 
every  department  of  literature,  is  almost  beyond  estimate. 
Translations  from  the  Latin,  Greek,  and  Italian  are  nu- 
merous. It  was  at  this  time  that  Chapman's  celebrated 
version  of  Homer  —  "romantic,  laborious,  Elizabethan"  — 
appeared.  Poetry,  in  almost  all  its  forms,  is  cultivated 
with  monumental  assiduity  and  success.  Theology,  as  in 
Foxe's  "  Book  of  Martyrs  "  and  Hooker's  "  Ecclesiastical 
Polity,"  naturally  claimed,  in  this  age  of  religious  agitation, 


FIRST  CREATIVE  PERIOD.  85 

no  small  share  of  attention.  Education,  history,  and  phi- 
losophy, as  we  shall  see,  were  all  treated  in  noteworthy 
productions.  Stories  of  travel  and  adventure,  tales  of 
romance,  and  dramas  of  every  description  were  all  very 
popular.  The  writings  in  these  various  departments  are, 
for  the  most  part,  in  a  style  that  far  surpasses  anything 
that  had  preceded  them,  reflecting  a  higher  order  of  cul- 
ture than  England  had  previously  enjoyed.  It  was  an  age 
as  extraordinary  in  its  literary  as  in  its  poUtical  activity. 
Apart  from  the  three  great  writers  —  Spenser,  Bacon,  and 
Shakespeare  —  reserved  for  special  study,  there  are  a  few 
others  who,  on  account  of  writings  of  permanent  interest, 
deserve  at  least  brief  consideration. 

Roger  Ascham  was  educated  at  Cambridge,  where  he 
devoted  himself  assiduously  to  the  ancient  languages.  He 
chose  as  a  motto  ''Qui  docct  discit,  —  who  teaches  learns," 
—  and  began  to  give  instruction  in  Greek  as  soon  as  he 
had  learned  the  elements  of  that  language.  In  1537  he 
was  appointed  lecturer  in  Greek  and  attracted  many  stu- 
dents, some  of  whom  afterward  became  distinguished,  by 
his  skill  and  reputation  as  a  teacher.  He  was  fond  of 
archery,  and  in  1 544  wrote  a  book  entitled  "  Toxophilus," 
in  which  he  commended  the  use  of  the  bow  as  a  worthy 
recreation.  In  the  preface,  while  apologizing  for  the  use 
of  English,  he  took  occasion  to  say  that  the  mother- 
tongue,  no  less  than  Latin,  might  be  written  with  scholarly 
care.  "  He  that  will  write  well  in  any  tongue,"  he  says, 
"  must  follow  the  counsel  of  Aristotle,  to  speak  as  the 
common  people  do ;  and  so  should  every  man  understand 
him,  and  the  judgment  of  wise  men  allow  him.  Many 
English  writers  have  not  done  so,  but  using  strange  words. 


86  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

as  Latin,  French,  and    Italian,  do  make  all  things  dark 
and  hard." 

In  1548  Ascham  was  appointed  to  direct  the  studies  of 
Lady  Elizabeth  —  a  charge  he  fulfilled  for  two  years.     Not- 
withstanding his  Protestant  proclivities,  he  received  the  ap- 
pointment of  Latin  Secretary  to  Queen  Mary,  and  discharged 
his  duties  with  so  much  prudence  that  he  escaped  persecu- 
tion and  retained  his  position  after  the  accession  of  Eliza- 
beth.    He  was  held  in  high  esteem  by  the  "Virgin  Queen," 
with  whom  he  renewed  the  classic  studies  of  former  days. 
He  disapproved  of  the  harsh  discipline  then  in  vogue  in 
education.      He    set    forth    his    educational  views   in    his 
"  Scholemaster,"    which  is  the    first   noteworthy  book   in 
EngHsh  on  the  subject  of  education.     It  is  still  worth  read- 
ing.    He  laid  special  stress  on  gentleness  in  teaching  ;  and 
in  illustration  of  its  value,  he  introduced  an  interesting  ac- 
count of  a  visit  he  once  paid  to  Lady  Jane  Grey.     "  Before 
I  went  into  Germany,"  he  says,  "  I  came  to  Broadgate  in 
Leicestershire,  to  take  my  leave  of  that  noble  Lady  Jane 
Grey,  to  whom  I  was  exceeding  much  beholden.     Her  par- 
ents, the  duke  and  duchess,  with  all  the  household,  gentle 
men  and  gentlewomen,  were  hunting  in  the  park.     I  found 
her  in  her  chamber  reading  '  Phaedon  Platonis'  in  Greek,  and 
that  with  as  much  delight  as  some  gentlemen  would  read  a 
merry  tale  in  Bocace.     After  salutation  and  duty  done,  with 
some  other  talk,  I  asked  her  why  she  would  lose  such  pas- 
time in  the  park  }     Smiling  she  answered  me  :  '  I  wiss,  all 
their  sport  in  the  park  is  but  a  shadow  to  that  pleasure  I 
find  in  Plato.     Alas !  good  folk,  they  never  felt  what  true 
pleasure  meant.'  "     This  love  for  literature  she  ascribed  to 
the  gentle  skill  of  her  teacher,  who  led  her  "  with  such  fair 


FIRST   CREATIVE  PERIOD.  ^,7 

allurements  to  learning  that  she  thought  all  the  time  noth- 
ing whiles  she  was  with  him." 

John  Lyly  is  the  author  of  a  famous  work,  which  intro- 
duced a  new  style  of  writing  into  English  and  added  a 
new  word  to  our  language.  The  term  EnpJmism,  denot- 
ing an  affected  elegance  of  language,  points  to  his  princi- 
pal work  which,  in  the  days  of  Elizabeth,  enjoyed  great 
popularity.  The  Euphuistic  style  became  the  fashion  at 
court ;  and  ladies  who  were  not  adepts  at  it  were  little 
esteemed  in  society.  While  adopting  this  style  himself, 
he  was  still  able  to  criticise  it  in  those  about  him.  "  It  is 
a  world,"  he  says,  "to  see  how  Englishmen  desire  to  hear 
finer  speech  than  the  language  will  allow,  to  eat  finer  bread 
than  is  made  of  wheat,  to  wear  finer  cloth  than  is  wrought 
of  wool ;  but  I  let  pass  their  fineness,  which  can  no  way 
excuse  my  folly."  This  overstrained  style  has  been  satir- 
ized by  Sir  Walter  Scott  in  his  "  Monastery  "  ;  and  a  more 
correct  taste  has  happily  abolished  it  from  literature. 

Lyly  began  his  literary  career  in  1579  with  the  publica- 
tion of  "  Euphues,  or  the  Anatomy  of  Wit "  ;  and  two  years 
later  appeared  his  "  Euphues  in  England,"  which,  like  the 
preceding  work,  attained  immediate  popularity.  Euphues 
is  a  well-bred  young  man  of  Athens,  who  visits  Naples,  "a 
place  of  more  pleasure  than  profit,  and  of  more  profit  than 
piety."  Rejecting  the  wise  counsels  of  a  venerable  friend, 
who  admonishes  him  to  "serve,  love,  and  fear  God,"  he 
learns  wisdom  by  bitter  experience.  At  length  he  returns 
to  Athens,  whence  he  writes  letters  of  admonition  to  his 
former  companion  in  ill-doing,  who  remained  in  Italy. 
"  Euphues  in  England  "  is  a  favorable  account  of  English 
life,  where  the  young  Athenian  found  all  the  women  fair, 


88  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

and  all  the  social  arrangements  wise.  Lyiy  wrote  several 
plays  which  were  popular ;  but  during  the  last  years  of 
Elizabeth's  reign  his  popularity  declined  before  the  rising 
reputation  of  greater  writers,  and  in  1606  it  was  his  sad 
lot  to  die  poor  and  neglected. 

Scarcely  any  other  writer  of  the  Elizabethan  era  awakens 
greater  interest  than  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  Of  noble  birth,  he 
was  a  distinguished  scholar,  a  brave  soldier,  a  promising 
statesman,  a  favored  courtier,  and  a  brilliant  author  in  both 
prose  and  poetry.  His  conception  of  chivalry  was  "  high- 
erected  thoughts  seated  in  a  heart  of  courtesy  "  ;  and  no 
other  man  of  his  time  came  nearer  embodying  in  his  life 
and  character  this  lofty  ideal. 

He  was  born  in  Kent  in  1554,  the  oldest  child  of  Sir 
Henry  Sidney  and  Lady  Mary  Dudley,  sister  of  Eliza- 
beth's favorite,  the  Earl  of  Leicester.  After  an  Oxford 
training,  in  which  his  remarkable  ability  became  manifest, 
he  travelled  on  the  Continent,  visiting  the  leading  cities  of 
Germany  and  Italy,  and  making  the  acquaintance  of  great 
scholars  and  statesmen.  Returning  to  England  after  three 
years,  he  was  introduced  at  court,  and  won  the  favor  of 
Elizabeth,  who  regarded  him,  as  she  said,  "  one  of  the 
jewels  of  her  crown."  At  the  great  reception  given  the 
queen  at  Kenilworth  he  distinguished  himself  in  the  tour- 
nament. 

During  a  period  of  retirement  from  court  life  he  wrote 
his  "  Arcadia,"  a  heroic  romance  in  prose  interspersed 
with  verse  in  the  Italian  fashion.  It  did  not  appear  till 
after  his  death.  It  is  a  lengthy  production,  and  though  it 
excited  enthusiasm  in  its  day,  it  is  now,  in  spite  of  frequent 
beauties,  generally  regarded  tedious.     It  contains  a  profu- 


FIRST   CREATIVE  PERIOD.  89 

sion  of  startling  events,  —  shipwrecks,  abductions,  pirates, 
wicked  fairies,  and  disguised  princes,  —  all  described  in 
language  that  often  exhibits  great  elegance  and  beauty. 

In  1581  Sidney  composed  his  "Defense  of  Poesie,"  in 
reply  to  the  attacks  of  Puritans,  who  had  stigmatized  poets 
as  "  caterpillars  of  the  commonwealth."  This  work,  which 
is  still  read  with  interest,  shows  a  clear  appreciation  of  the 
function  of  poetry,  and  presents  its  arguments  with  manly 
clearness  and  force.  There  is  an  absence  of  affected  con- 
ceits, and  the  Euphuists  are  explicitly  condemned.  "  For 
now,"  he  says,  "  they  cast  sugar  and  spice  upon  every  dish 
that  is  served  to  the  table ;  like  those  Indians,  not  content 
to  wear  earrings  at  the  fit  and  natural  place  of  the  ears, 
but  they  wall  thrust  jewels  through  their  nose  and  lips, 
because  they  will  be  sure  to  be  fine."  He  pronounces 
the  poet  "monarch  of  all  sciences.  For  he  doth  not  only 
show  the  way,  but  giveth  so  sweet  a  prospect  into  the 
way  as  will  entice  any   man  to  enter  into  it." 

Sidney's  poetical  gifts  found  expression  in  a  series  of 
one  hundred  and  eight  sonnets  addressed  to  Penelope 
Devereux,  upon  whom  he  bestowed  the  poetic  name  of 
Stella.  The  ardent  attachment  they  breathe  seems  to 
have  been  merely  Platonic  ;  for  at  the  time  the  poet  was 
composing  them  he  was  engaged  to  Fanny  Walsingham, 
whom  he  shortly  afterward  married.  They  vary  in  excel- 
lence, striking  all  the  tones  from  a  forced  artificiality  to  a 
natural  simplicity  and  sweetness. 

Strongly  Protestant  in  his  feelings,  he  desired  the  queen 
to  become  the  "  defendress  of  the  faith,"  and  to  place 
herself  at  the  head  of  a  Protestant  league.  In  1585,  when 
aid  was  sent  to  the  Protestants  in  the  Netherlands,  who 


90  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

were  struggling  against  Spanish  oppression,  Sidney  was 
made  governor  of  Flushing,  one  of  the  towns  ceded  to 
England.  He  took  part  in  the  investment  of  Zutphen  the 
following  year,  and  in  a  gallant  attack  upon  a  detachment 
of  Spaniards  his  thigh  was  shattered  by  a  musket  ball. 
Carried  from  the  field,  mortally  wounded,  he  asked  for  a 
cup  of  water ;  but  as  he  was  raising  it  to  his  lips,  a  dying 
soldier  near  him  cast  upon  it  a  look  of  intense  longing. 
"Give  it  to  that  man,"  said  the  magnanimous  Sidney; 
"  his  necessity  is  greater  than  mine." 

It  is  not  frequent  that  religious  controversy  makes  a 
permanent  contribution  to  literature.  In  subserving  some 
immediate  end,  controversial  writings  are  apt  to  be  tem- 
porary in  their  character ;  and  produced  under  the  stress 
of  party  spirit,  they  are  often  disfigured  by  partisan  feel- 
ing. But  the  great  work  of  Richard  Hooker,  the  "  Laws 
of  Ecclesiastical  Polity,"  which  is  a  defence  of  the  Estab- 
lished Church,  is  an  exception ;  for  the  first  book  at  least 
has  won  a  permanent  place  in  our  literature.  Avoiding 
the  bitter  spirit  and  scurrilous  style  common  in  the  reli- 
gious controversies  of  the  time,  he  endeavored,  with  great 
integrity  of  purpose,  to  base  his  defence  on  fundamental 
and  changeless  principles.  In  spite  of  certain  faults  of 
style  and  defects  of  reasoning,  his  work  has  remained  ever 
since  an  authority. 

When  Pope  Clement  said  that  he  had  never  met  with 
an  English  writer  that  deserved  the  name  of  author,  he 
was  referred  to  the  "Ecclesiastical  Polity";  and  after 
reading  the  first  book,  he  felt  constrained  to  say,  "  There 
is  no  learning  this  man  hath  not  searched  into  —  nothing 
too  hard  for  his  understanding ;  this  man,  indeed,  deserves 


FIRST   CREATIVE  PERIOD.  9I 

the  name  of  an  author ;  his  books  will  get  reverence  by 
age,  for  there  is  in  them  such  seeds  of  eternity  that,  if  the 
rest  be  like  this,  they  shall  last  till  the  last  fire  shall  con- 
sume all  learning." 

Richard  Hooker  was  born  in  or  near  the  city  of  Exeter 
in  1553,  of  parents  who  were  noted  for  virtue  and  industry. 
It  was  said  of  him  in  his  early  school  days  that  he  seemed 
"to  be  blessed  with  inward  light."  He  was  bred  at  Ox- 
ford, and  at  the  age  of  twenty-eight  took  orders  in  the 
Established  Church,  for  which  he  was  eminently  fitted  by 
his  piety  and  scholarship.  He  married  "  a  silly  clownish 
woman,"  who  turned  out  to  be  a  vixen ;  but  he  bore  his 
domestic  discomfort  with  admirable  resignation.  "  If  saints 
have  usually  a  double  share  in  the  miseries  of  this  life,"  he 
said,  "  I  that  am  none  ought  not  to  repine  at  what  my  wise 
Creator  has  appointed  for  me,  but  labor  (as  indeed  I  do 
daily),  to  submit  mine  to  his  will,  and  possess  my  soul  in 
patience  and  peace." 

He  was  drawn  unwillingly  into  the  controversies  of  the 
time ;  for,  as  he  said,  "  God  and  nature  did  not  intend  him 
for  contention,  but  for  study  and  quietness."  The  Puri- 
tans maintained  that  the  Church  of  England  needed  a 
further  reformation  ;  that  many  of  its  usages  savored  too 
much  of  Romanism  ;  that  the  traditions  of  men  imposed 
no  binding  obligation  in  ecclesiastical  matters ;  that  the 
Episcopal  form  of  government  should  be  abolished ;  and 
that  the  Word  of  God  should  be  the  only  source,  not  only 
of  doctrine,  but  also  of  church  usages  and  discipline. 

In  opposition  to  these  declarations.  Hooker  maintained  : 
(i)  that  while  the  Scriptures  are  a  perfect  standard  of 
doctrine,  they  are  not  a  rule  of  discipline  or  government. 


92  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

(2)  That  the  practice  of  the  apostles  is  not  an  invariable 
rule  or  law  to  the  church  in  succeeding  ages,  because  they 
acted   according   to  circumstances    in   its    infantile  state. 

(3)  That   the    Scriptures    leave    many,  things  indifferent. 

(4)  That  the  church  is  a  society  like  others,  invested  with 
powers  to  make  what  laws  it  regards  necessary  or  reason- 
able for  its  well-being  and  government,  provided  they  do 
not  interfere  with  or  contradict  the  laws  and  command- 
ments of  Holy  Scripture.  And  (5)  that  where  the  Scrip- 
ture is  silent,  human  authority  may  interpose,  having 
recourse  to  the  reason  of  things  and  the  rights  of  society. 

With  these  principles  established,  it  was  of  course  easy 
to  defend  the  particular  rites  and  ceremonies  of  the 
Church  of  England.  The  following  passage,  with  which 
the  first  book  of  the  "  Ecclesiastical  Polity  "  closes,  has 
often  been  quoted,  and  is  indeed  a  bit  of  magnificent 
prose  :  "  Wherefore,  that  here  we  may  briefly  end  ;  of  law 
there  can  be  no  less  acknowledged,  than  that  her  seat  is 
the  bosom  of  God,  her  voice  the  harmony  of  the  world : 
all  things  in  heaven  and  earth  do  her  homage,  the  very 
least  as  feeling  her  care,  and  the  greatest  as  not  exempted 
from  her  power;  both  angels  and  men  and  creatures  of 
what  condition  soever,  though  each  in  different  sort  and 
manner,  yet  all  with  uniform  consent,  admiring  her  as  the 
mother  of  their  peace  and  their  joy." 

Soldier,  sailor,  courtier,  statesman,  historian,  poet  — 
these  are  the  different  characters  in  which  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh  appears.  In  that  age  of  great  men  —  when 
Spenser,  Shakespeare,  and  Bacon  were  rendering  England 
famous  in  literature,  and  Hawkins,  Frobisher,  and  Drake 
were  making  her  powerful    on    the   sea  —  the    figure   of 


FIRST   CREATIVE  PERIOD.  93 

Raleigh  is  not  dwarfed.  In  the  momentous  events  of  the 
time,  which  involved  all  subsequent  history ;  in  the  con- 
flicts between  Roman  supremacy  and  Protestant  indepen- 
dence ;  in  the  contest  with  Spain  which  was  to  decide  the 
sovereignty  of.  the  seas,  and  the  peopling  of  the  new 
world,  he  had,  as  counsellor  of  the  queen  and  admiral  of 
the  fleet,  no  insignificant  share.  His  versatility  of  genius 
was  almost  unexampled ;  and  to  whatever  form  of  ac- 
tivity he  turned  his  attention,  he  exhibited  efficiency  and 
achieved  distinction.  His  capacious  mind  was  equally 
at  home  in  devising  a  comprehensive  state  policy,  in 
managing  practical  details,  and  in  cultivating  the  graces 
of  literature. 

Born  in  1552,  near  the  city  of  Exeter  in  Devonshire,  —  a 
county  that  during  the  sixteenth  century  gave  England 
Bishop  Jewell,  Sir  Francis  Drake,  and  Richard  Hooker, — 
he  entered  Oxford  at  the  age  of  fourteen  and  distinguished 
himself  as  a  rhetorician  and  philosopher.  With  strong 
Protestant  feeling,  he  went  to  France  and  fought  as  a 
volunteer  in  the  Huguenot  armies.  In  1578  he  joined  an 
expedition  sent  to  the  Netherlands  to  oppose  Don  John  of 
Austria  ;  and  a  Uttle  later  he  accompanied  his  half-brother, 
Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert,  on  a  voyage  to  America,  the  pur- 
pose of  which  was  to  antagonize  Spanish  interests.  In 
15S0  he  went  with  Lord  Grey  (whose  secretary  was 
Edmund  Spenser)  to  Ireland,  which  was  then  in  a  state 
of  insurrection,  and  distinguished  himself  by  his  energy 
and  courage.  At  the  court  in  London  he  won  the  special 
favor  of  Queen  EUzabeth,  and  became  one  of  her  principal 
counsellors.  His  tact  was  admirable.  He  was  once  attend- 
ing the  queen  on  a  walk  ;  and  when,  on  coming  to  a  muddy 


94  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

place,  she  hesitated  for  a  moment,  Raleigh  instantly  spread 
his  rich  plush  cloak  in  the  way  for  her  feet.  He  was  made 
in  succession  Captain  of  the  Guard,  Gentleman  of  the 
Privy  Chamber,  Lord  Warden  of  the  Stannaries,  and  Lord 
Lieutenant  of  Cornwall, 

In  the  conflict  with  Spain,  Raleigh  was  of  eminent  ser- 
vice. When  the  news  reached  London  that  the  Armada 
was  advancing,  he  posted  himself,  eager  for  the  fray,  off 
the  southern  coast  of  England,  in  order  to  fly  at  the  flanks 
of  the  invading  fleet.  In  council  he  advocated  the  tactics 
by  which  the  Armada  was  defeated  and  England  saved. 
In  1589  he  made  a  visit  to  Ireland  and  renewed  his  friend- 
ship with  Spenser.  He  brought  the  author  of  the  "  Faery 
Queene  "  to  London  and  introduced  him  at  court  —  a  ser- 
vice acknowledged  in  a  poem  entitled  "Colin  Clout's  Come 
Home  Again,"  in  which  Raleigh  figures  as  the  "  Shepherd 
of  the  Ocean." 

Of  Raleigh's  varied  other  services  as  naval  commander 
and  explorer,  there  is  not  space  to  speak.  With  the  death 
of  Elizabeth  in  1603  his  fortunes  began  to  decline.  He 
incurred  the  displeasure  of  James  I.  First  deprived  of 
his  offices,  he  was  finally  imprisoned  on  a  charge  of  con- 
spiracy. In  spite  of  his  innocence,  eloquent  defence,  and 
admirable  bearing,  he  was  adjudged  guilty  and  sentenced 
to  death.  The  king  did  not  venture  to  execute  the  sen- 
tence;  and  after  being  brought  on  the  scaffold,  Raleigh 
was  reprieved  and  led  back  to  the  Tower.  He  employed 
the  thirteen  tedious  years  of  his  imprisonment  in  study, 
and  in  1614  he  published  his  "  History  of  the  World."  It 
is  an  unfinished  work,  coming  down  only  to  the  year  170 
B.C.     As  a  record  of  facts,  it  has  long  since  been  super- 


FIRST   CREATIVE  PERIOD.  95 

seded ;  but  it  still  possesses  interest  as  the  best  specimen 
of  historical  prose  that  had  yet  appeared  in  England. 
Raleigh's  large  experience  and  practical  sense  preserved 
him  from  pedantry,  while  his  reflections  are  often  striking 
and  sometimes  eloquent.  "  O  eloquent,  just,  and  mighty 
death  ! "  he  exclaims,  "  whom  none  could  advise,  thou 
hast  persuaded;  what  none  hath  dared,  thou  hast  done; 
and  whom  all  the  world  hath  flattered,  thou  only  hast  cast 
out  of  the  world  and  despised ;  thou  hast  drawn  together 
all  the  far-fetched  greatness,  all  the  pride,  cruelty,  and 
ambition  of  man,  and  covered  it  all  over  with  these  two 
narrow  words,  hie  jacet  !  " 

Apart  from  numerous  prose  writings  —  epistolary,  mari- 
time, geographical,  political,  and  historical  —  Raleigh  felt 
the  impulse  of  poetry.  He  contemplated  an  English  epic  ; 
but  his  busy  life  left  him  leisure  for  only  a  few  miscellane- 
ous pieces,  in  which  depth  of  sentiment  is  associated  with 
felicitous  expression.  His  reply  to  Marlowe's  "Passionate 
Shepherd  "  is  well  known  :  — 

"  If  all  the  world  and  love  were  young, 
And  truth  in  every  shepherd's  tongue, 
These  pretty  pleasures  might  me  move 
To  live  with  thee  and  be  thy  love." 

The  man  of  deeds  rather  than  of  words  is  portrayed  in 
the  following  lines  :  — 

"Passions  are  likened  best  to  floods  and  streams;. 
The  shallow  murmur,  but  the  deep  are  dumb ; 
So,  when  affections  yield  discourse,  it  seems 
The  bottom  is  but  shallow  whence  they  come. 
They  that  are  rich  in  words,  in  words  discover 
That  they  are  poor  in  that  which  makes  a  lover." 


96  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

The  lines  he  wrote  the  night  before  his  execution  pos- 
sess a  melancholy  interest :  — 

"  Even  such  is  time,  that  takes  in  trust 
Our  youth,  our  joys,  our  all  we  have. 
And  pays  us  but  with  earth  and  dust ; 
Who,  in  the  dark  and  silent  grave. 
When  we  have  wandered  all  our  ways, 
Shuts  up  the  story  of  our  days  ; 
But  from  this  earth,  this  grave,  this  dust, 
My  God  shall  raise  me  up,  I  trust." 

The  poetic  activity  of  the  First  Creative  Period  is 
astonishing.  The  list  of  poets  contains  no  fewer  than  two 
hundred  names,  and  many  of  them  were  prolific  writers. 
The  poetry  of  this  time  exhibits  all  the  exuberant  vigor  of 
youth,  and  often  also,  as  might  be  expected,  a  youth- 
ful immaturity.  The  choice  of  subjects  is  frequently 
unhappy,  and  naturalness  of  style  is  often  supplanted 
by  pedantic  affectations.  Except  in  the  case  of  a  few 
master-spirits,  the  wine  of  poetry  had  not  yet  had  time  to 
run  clear. 

Apart  from  the  drama,  the  lyrical  productions  are  by 
far  the  most  successful,  and  some  of  them  are  admirable 
in  form  and  spirit,  comparing  favorably  with  the  efforts  of 
a  later  day.  The  Elizabethan  lyric  originated,  not  among 
the  people,  but  largely  among  the  cultured  circles  of  the 
court.  The  poets  of  this  period  were  not  inaptly  styled 
"  courtly  makers."  The  subjects  are  generally  erotic,  and 
the  treatment  prevailingly  objective.  What  appeals  to  the 
senses,' rather  than  to  the  reflective  powers,  is  made  promi- 
nent. The  lyrical  measures  are  exceedingly  varied,  though 
the  basis  is   almost  always  iambic.      The  influences  pro- 


FIRST  CREATIVE  PERIOD.  97 

ducing  this  rich  variety  were  threefold:  (i)  the  old 
national  metre  with  its  assonance  and  alliteration;  (2)  the 
metrical  forms  of  France  and  Italy,  which  were  extensively 
imitated;  and  (3)  the  classical  metres,  which  were  studied 
with  enthusiasm. 

There  are  several  lengthy  poems  —  Sackville's  "Mirror 
for  Magistrates,"  Warner's  "Albion's  England,"  Daniel's 
"Civil  Wars,"  and  Drayton's  "  Polyolbion  " — -which  can 
not  be  spoken  of  so  favorably.  They  are  indeed  models  of 
patient  authorship,  and  exhibit  great  skill  in  mechanical 
verse-making ;  but  they  have,  as  a  rule,  the  serious  defect 
of  being  unreadable.  Nothing  but  the  most  ardent  patriot- 
ism can  find  them  interesting.  Most  persons,  after  look- 
ing into  these  poems,  will  discover  some  basis  for  the 
humorous  criticism  of  Lowell,  who  speaks  of  this  age  as 
"the  period  of  the  saurians  in  English  poetry,  interminable 
poems,  book  after  book  and  canto  after  canto,  like  far 
reaching  vertcbrce  that  at  first  sight  would  seem  to  have 
rendered  earth  unfit  for  the  habitation  of  man.  They  most 
of  them  sleep  well  now,  as  once  they  made  their  readers 
sleep,  and  their  huge  remains  lie  embedded  in  the  deep 
morasses  of  Chambers  and  Anderson.  We  wonder  at  the 
length  of  face  and  general  atrabilious  look  that  mark  the 
portraits  of  the  men  of  that  generation,  but  it  is  no  marvel 
when  even  their  relaxations  were  such  downright  hard 
work.  Fathers,  when  their  day  on  earth  was  up,  must 
have  folded  down  the  leaf  and  left  the  task  to  be  finished 
by  their  sons —  a  dreary  inheritance." 

When  the  Christian  church  gained  the  ascendency  in 
ancient  Rome,  it  set  itself  in  opposition  to  dramatic  repre- 
sentations, which  at  that  time  were  characterized  by  lewd- 

H 


98  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

ness  and  brutality.  Tertullian  said  that  "stage  plays  are 
the  pomp  of  the  devil;  "  and  Clement  of  Rome  and  Augus- 
tine denounced  the  theatre  in  terms  equally  sweeping  and 
strong.  Under  this  opposition  of  the  church,  the  dramas 
of  Greece  and  Rome  fell  into  oblivion,  except  where  out- 
cast and  wandering  actors  preserved  some  faint  tradition 
of  them. 

The  modern  drama  has  an  ecclesiastical  origin.  Its  be- 
ginnings are  found  in  the  Miracle  plays,  which,  during  the 
latter  part  of  the  Middle  Ages,  were  common  not  only  in 
England,  but  throughout  all  Europe.  These  plays,  some- 
times called  Mysteries,  represented  scenes  in  sacred  his- 
tory and  in  the  lives  of  saints.  They  were  written  by 
ecclesiastics,  and  performed  under  the  auspices  of  the 
church,  in  abbeys  and  cathedrals.  At  a  time  when  preach- 
ing was  unusual,  they  were  employed  to  instruct  the  people 
in  the  historical  portions  of  the  Scripture.  Subsequently, 
they  were  performed  by  trading  companies  in  the  towns, 
who  used  movable  platforms  called  pageants.  In  spite  of 
their  religious  origin  and  aim,  these  plays  often  degen- 
erated into  gross  irreverence  and  buffoonery ;  and  -at  their 
best,  judged  by  present  standards,  they  were  crude  inform 
and  style. 

The  Miracle  plays  were  succeeded  by  the  Moralities, 
which  introduced  as  dramatis  persojice  the  leading  virtues 
and  vices.  They  satisfied  a  popular  love  of  allegory,  and 
retained  a  hold  on  the  pubhc  mind  till  the  time  of  Eliza- 
beth. One  of  the  last  dramatic  representations  attended 
by  the  queen  was  a  Morality,  entitled  the  "  Contention  be- 
tween Liberality  and  Prodigahty,"  and  performed  in  the 
year  1600.     Sometimes,  along  with  the  virtues  and  vices, 


FIRST  CREATIVE  PERIOD.  99 

characters  from  real  life  were  introduced  ;  and  by  thus 
touching  upon  current  events  and  existing  manners,  the 
Morality  gained  an  additional  element  of  popularity.  A 
further  approach  to  the  modern  drama  was  made  by 
the  Interludes,  a  sort  of  farcical  representation  invented 
by  John  Heywood  early  in  the  sixteenth  century,  and 
designed  to  relieve  the  tediousness  of  the  Miracle  play  or 
Morality. 

The  first  English  comedy  was  "  Ralph  Royster  Doyster," 
written  by  Nicholas  Udall,  headmaster  of  Eton  and  trans- 
lator of  Terence.  The  exact  date  of  its  composition  is  not 
known,  but  it  appeared  prior  to  1551.  Unlike  the  Miracle 
and  Moral  plays,  it  is  divided  into  acts  and  scenes — an 
advance  in  dramatic  form  suggested  by  classical  models. 
The  first  regular  tragedy,  entitled  "  Gorboduc,"  followed  a 
few  years  later.  It  was  written  by  Thomas  Sackville,  and 
performed  before  the  queen  in  1562.  It  exhibits  the  first 
application  of  blank  verse  to  dramatic  composition  in 
England.  Like  the  comedy  just  spoken  of,  its  form  was 
affected  by  Greek  and  Roman  models,  with  which  Sack- 
ville had  become  acquainted  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge. 
It  is  chiefly  notable  as  introducing  the  splendid  theatrical 
outburst  of  the  Elizabethan  era.  Before  the  close  of  the 
sixteenth  century  there  appeared  a  large  number  of  drama- 
tists, whose  works  possess  not  simply  historical  interest, 
but  also  intrinsic  excellence.  Among  the  predecessors  of 
Shakespeare  were  Kyd,  Lyly,  Peele,  Greene,  and  Marlowe. 

Special  buildings  for  dramatic  entertainments  were  not 
erected  till  late  in  the  sixteenth  century.  Before  that  time 
the  plays  were  acted  in  tents,  wooden  sheds,  courtyards  of 
inns,  and  cock-pits — the  name  pit,  applied  to  the  lowest 


lOO  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

place  in  theatres,  still  suggesting  this  association.  The 
first  building  in  London  for  dramatic  purposes  was  erected 
in  1576.  It  was  speedily  followed  by  others;  and  before 
the  close  of  the  century  eleven  theatres  were  built,  chiefly 
on  the  southern  or  Surrey  bank  of  the  Thames,  in  order  to 
be  beyond  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Puritan  city  government. 
The  most  famous  of  these  theatres,  because  of  its  associa- 
tion with  Shakespeare,  was  The  Globe,  so  called  from  its 
sign,  which  represented  Atlas  supporting  the  world,  with 
the  striking  motto,  '^Totus  niundus  agit  histrio?iem." 

These  early  theatres  were  all  built  after  the  same  model, 
suggested,  no  doubt,  by  the  enclosed  courts  of  inns.  A 
central  platform  served  for  the  stage,  which  was  surrounded 
by  seats  except  on  one  side  reserved  for  a  dressing  room. 
The  upper  galleries,  which  extended  around  the  entire 
building,  were  occupied  by  boxes.  This  arrangement  gen- 
erally led  to  the  adoption  of  octagonal-shaped  buildings. 
Most  of  the  theatres  were  uncovered,  except  immediately 
over  the  stage.  There  was  no  movable  scenery,  and  the 
female  parts  were  acted  by  men  and  boys.  A  placard, 
bearing  the  name  of  Rome,  Paris,  or  London,  as  the  case 
might  be,  indicated  the  scene  of  the  action.  The  plays 
began  at  3  p.m.,  and  were  attended  by  people  of  every 
social  condition.  In  spite  of  the  opposition  of  the  Puritan 
corporation  of  London,  the  drama  made  rapid  progress ; 
and  in  one  generation  it  passed  from  infancy  to  full  ma- 
turity, exhibiting  a  compass,  strength,  and  majesty  unpar- 
alleled in  the  literary  history  of  any  other  country. 

Twenty-five  years  after  the  construction  of  the  first 
theatre,  the  "  Merchant  of  Venice,"  "  Romeo  and  Juliet," 
and   "Hamlet"   were   presented  on  the  stage.     A  large 


FIRST   CREATINE   PERIOD.  lOI 

number  of  dramatic  poets  in  London  —  Greene,  Marlowe, 
Shakespeare,  Jonson,  Beaumont,  Fletcher,  Massinger,  and 
others  —  were  engaged  in  supplying  the  popular  demand 
for  plays ;  and  such  was  the  genius  of  several  of  these 
writers  that  they  would  stand  out  with  prominence  but 
for  the  overshadowing  iigure  of  one  consummate  master. 
In  the  main,  they  were  men  of  liberal  culture ;  but  fre- 
quently their  strength  was  wasted  in  licentious  and  in- 
temperate living.  Many  of  them  were  actors,  and  began 
their  literary  careers  by  retouching  the  plays  of  others. 
As  the  price  of  a  drama  was  only  from  seven  to  twenty 
pounds,  they  were  often  in  want  of  bread  ;  and  it  is  a 
curious  fact  that  many  of  the  details  we  have  of  their  lives 
are  taken  from  the  journal  of  a  pawn-broker  and  money- 
lender. 

Among  the  minor  dramatists  there  is  one  that  seems  to 
deserve  more  particular  mention.  In  the  Poets'  Corner  of 
Westminster  Abbey  a  slab  bears  the  simple  inscription, 
"O  Rare  Ben  Jonson."  Though  two  and  a  half  centuries 
have  passed  since  it  was  carved  there,  the  literary  world, 
with  remarkable  unanimity,  has  approved  it  as  just.  He 
was  a  strong,  learned,  large-minded,  and  big-hearted 
piece  of  manhood  —  John  Bull  personified,  as  Whipple 
suggests. 

Ben  Jonson  was  born  in  London  in  1573.  After  a  brief 
course  at  Cambridge,  he  became  a  soldier  in  the  Nether- 
lands, where  he  distinguished  himself  by  his  bravery.  But 
military  life  had  little  charm  for  him,  and  after  a  single 
campaign  he  returned  to  London  and  connected  himself 
with  a  theatre.  As  an  actor  he  failed  completely.  But  as 
a  dramatic  author  he  was  more   fortunate,  and  in   1596  his 


I02  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

comedy,  "Every  Man  in  his  Humor,"  in  which  Shakespeare 
acted  a  part,  established  his  reputation.  It  was  about  this 
time  that  the  acquaintance  between  the  two  dramatists  be- 
gan. We  have  a  pleasing  contemporary  picture  of  them 
as  they  met,  along  with  Beaumont,  Fletcher,  and  other 
poets,  at  the  Falcon  Tavern,  the  home  of  the  Mermaid 
Club  founded  by  Raleigh.  "  Many  were  the  wit  combats," 
says  Fuller,  "  betwixt  Shakespeare  and  Ben  Jonson,  which 
two  I  behold  Hke  a  Spanish  great  galleon  and  an  English 
man-of-war ;  Master  Jonson,  like  the  former,  was  built  far 
higher  in  learning  ;  solid,  but  slow  in  his  performances. 
Shakespeare,  with  the  English  man-of-war,  lesser  in  bulk, 
but  lighter  in  sailing,  could  turn  with  all  tides,  tack  about 
and  take  advantage  of  all  winds,  by  the  quickness  of  his 
wit  and  invention." 

After  the  success  of  "Every  Man  in  his  Humor,"  Jon- 
son wrote,  at  pretty  regular  intervals,  a  series  of  dramas, 
several  of  which  —  "Volpone,"  "The  Silent  Woman,"  and 
"  The  Alchemist  "  —  occupy  a  high  rank  in  dramatic  litera- 
ture. But  he  was  a  lyrical  as  well  as  dramatic  poet.  It 
has  even  been  contended  that  lyrical  poetry  was  his  special 
sphere.  However  that  may  be,  he  undoubtedly  possessed 
lyrical  gifts  of  a  high  order,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  follow- 
ing well-known  song :  — 

"Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes, 

And  I  will  pledge  with  mine  ; 
Or  leave  a  kiss  but  in  the  cup, 

And  ril  not  look  for  wine.  • 
The  thirst  that  from  the  soul  doth  rise 

Doth  ask  a  drink  divine  ; 
But  might  I  of  Jove's  nectar  sup, 

I  would  not  change  for  thine. 


FIRST   CREATIVE   PERIOD.  103 

I  sent  thee  late  a  rosy  wreath, 

Not  so  much  honoring  thee 
As  giving  it  a  hope  that  there 

It  could  not  withered  be; 
But  thou  thereon  didst  only  breathe 

And  sent'st  it  back  to  me ; 
Since  when  it  grows,  and  smells,  I  swear, 

Not  of  itself,  but  thee." 


I04  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

EDMUND    SPENSER. 

For  more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  no  poet, 
worthy  to  bear  the  mantle  of  Chaucer  had  appeared  in 
England.  But,  as  we  have  seen,  mighty  movements  had 
been  going  on  in  Europe,  —  the  revival  of  letters,  great 
inventions  and  discoveries,  and  the  widespread  religious 
movement  known  as  the  Reformation.  It  was  an  age  of 
great  thoughts  and  aspirations  and  of  marvellous  achieve- 
ment. The  time  had  at  length  come,  under  the  prosper- 
ous and  illustrious  reign  of  Elizabeth,  for  English  greatness 
to  mirror  itself  in  literature.  A  group  of  great  writers 
arose.  To  Edmund  Spenser  belongs  the  honor  of  having 
been  the  first  genius  to  reflect  the  greatness  of  his  age 
and  country  in  an  imperishable  poem,  and  to  add  new 
lustre  to  a  splendid  period  in  English  history. 

As  with  Chaucer,  we  have  to  lament  the  meagreness  of 
detail  connected  with  the  life  of  Spenser.  The  year  1552, 
which  is  determined  by  an  incidental  and  not  wholly  con- 
clusive reference  in  one  of  his  sonnets,  is  commonly  ac- 
cepted as  the  year  of  his  birth.  The  place  of  his  birth, 
not  otherwise  known,  is  likewise  determined  by  a  passage 
in  his  "  Prothalamion,"  a  poem  written  near  the  close  of  his 

life:  — 

"  At  length  they  all  to  merry  London  came, 

To  merry  London,  my  most  kindly  nurse, 
That  to  me  gave  this  life's  first  native  source, 
Though  from  another  place  I  take  my  name, 
An  house  of  ancient  fame." 


^ ■■"'^tlari    /;•„„, 4,m     U^/iutn      F.iiUvrt     /J   /)   .  1/       t  'rrtur 


Engraved  hy  G.  Atrtm-,  ITlT. 


EDMUND  SPENSER.  I05 

Nothing  is  known  of  his  parents ;  but,  as  he  was  a  char- 
ity student,  it  is  to  be  inferred  that  they  were  in  humble 
circumstances.  He  received  his  preparatory  training  at 
the  Merchant  Taylor  School,  and  at  the  age  of  seventeen 
entered  Pembroke  Hall,  Cambridge,  where  he  earned  his 
board  by  acting  as  sizar  or  waiter.  He  took  the  degree 
of  Bachelor  of  Arts  in  1572,  and  that  of  Master  of  Arts 
four  years  later.  The  particulars  of  his  life  at  Cambridge 
are,  for  the  most  part,  matters  of  mere  conjecture.  We 
may  safely  infer  from  his  broad  scholarship  that  he  was  a 
diligent  student.  His  writings  show  an  intimate  acquaint- 
ance, not  only  with  classical  antiquity,  but  also  with  the 
great  writers  —  Chaucer,  Dante,  Tasso,  Ariosto,  Marot  — 
of  the  dawning  modern  era. 

A  friendship  with  Gabriel  Harvey,  a  fellow  of  Pembroke 
Hall,  and  an  enthusiastic  writer  and  educator,  was  not 
without  influence  upon  his  poetical  career.  Harvey  en- 
couraged Spenser  in  his  early  literary  efforts  ;  but  it  is 
fortunate  that  his  advice  failed  to  turn  the  poet's  genius 
to  the  drama.  After  leaving  the  university,  Spenser  spent 
a  year  or  two  in  the  north  of  England  (it  is  impossible  to 
be  more  definite),  where  he  wrote  his  first  important  work, 
"The  Shepherd's  Calendar."  It  was  inspired  by  a  deep 
but  unfortunate  affection  for  a  country  lass,  who  appears 
in  the  poem  under  the  anagrammatic  name  of  Rosalinde. 
Her  identity,  a  puzzle  to  critics,  remained  for  a  long  time 
undetermined ;  but  an  American  writer,  with  great  inge- 
nuity, has  shown  almost  beyond  question  that  the  young 
lady  was  Rose  Daniel,  sister  to  the  poet  of  that  name.^ 

The  poem  consists  of  twelve  eclogues,  named  after  the 

1  See  Atlantic  Monthly,  November,  1858. 


I06  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

months  of  the  year.  It  contains  a  variety  of  measures, 
all  of  which  are  distinguished  for  their  harmony.  Noth- 
ing so  admirable  in  metre  and  phrase  had  appeared  since 
Chaucer.  Many  archaic  words  were  introduced  under  the 
impression,  as  we  are  told  in  a  prefatory  epistle  addressed 
to  Harvey,  "  that  they  bring  great  grace,  and,  as  one  would 
say,  authority  to  the  verse."  Though  less  finished  than 
some  subsequent  poems,  "  The  Shepherd's  Calendar " 
showed  a  master's  touch  and  announced  the  presence  of 
a  great  poet  in  England. 

Upon  the  advice  of  Harvey,  Spenser  went  to  London. 
He  met  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  by  whom  he  was  introduced 
at  court,  and  put  in  the  way  of  preferment.  He  fell  in 
readily  with  court  life,  wore  a  pointed  beard  and  fashion- 
able mustache,  and  acquired  a  light  tone  in  speaking 
of  women  —  a  levity  that  soon  gave  place  to  a  truly 
chivalrous  regard.  In  1580  he  was  appointed  secretary 
to  Lord  Grey,  deputy  to  Ireland,  and  accompanied  that 
official  through  the  bloody  scenes  connected  with  the 
suppression  of  Desmond's  rebellion.  The  duties  assigned 
him  were  ably  performed ;  and,  in  recognition  of  his 
services,  he  received  in  1586,  as  a  grant,  Kilcolman  Castle 
and  three  thousand  acres  of  land  in  the  county  of  Cork. 
Here  he  afterward  made  his  home,  occasionally  visiting 
London  to  seek  preferment  or  to  publish  some  new  work. 
Though  his  home  was  not  without  the  attraction  of  beauti- 
ful surroundings,  he  looked  upon  his  Hfe  there  as  a  sort 
of  banishment.      In  one  of  his  poems  he  speaks  of  — 

"My  luckless  lot, 
That  banisht  had  myself,  like  wight  forlore, 
Into  that  waste,  where  I  was  quite  forgot." 


EDMUND  SPENSER.  IO7 

But  however  disagreeable  to  the  feelings  of  Spenser, 
who  continued  to  feel  a  longing  for  the  "sweet  civilities" 
of  London,  it  can  hardly  be  doubted  that  his  experience 
in  Ireland  was  favorable  to  the  development  of  his  poetic 
gifts,  and  found  a  favorable  reflection  in  his  greatest  poem. 
It  gave  a  vivid  realism  to  his  descriptions  that  in  all  prob- 
ability would  otherwise  have  been  wanting. 

In  1589  he  was  visited  by  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  to  whom 
he  read  the  first  three  books  of  the  "Faery  Queene." 
Seated  in  the  midst  of  an  attractive  landscape,  the  poet 
and  the  hero  make  a  pleasing  picture  as  they  discuss 
the  merits  of  a  work  that  is  to  begin  a  new  era  in  Eng- 
lish literature.  Raleigh  was  so  delighted  with  the  poem 
that  he  urged  the  author  to  take  it  to  London  —  advice 
that  was  eagerly  followed.  The  poet  was  granted  an 
audience  by  Elizabeth,  and  favored  with  the  patronage 
of  several  noble  ladies ;  but  further  than  a  pension  of 
fifty  pounds,  which  does  not  appear  to  have  been  regu- 
larly paid,  he  received  no  substantial  recognition. 

This  result  was  a  disappointment  to  Spenser,  who  had 
hoped  that  his  literary  fame  would  lead  to  higher  political 
preferment.  In  "Colin  Clout's  Come  Home  Again,"  a 
poem  in  which  the  incidents  of  this  visit  are  embodied, 
he  speaks  of  the  court  in  a  tone  of  disappointment  and 
bitterness.  In  a  prefatory  letter  addressed  to  Raleigh, 
who  figures  in  the  poem  under  the  title  of  "  Shepherd 
of  the  Ocean,"  Spenser  says  that  the  work  agrees  "with 
the  truth  in  circumstance  and  matter " ;  and  from  this 
declaration  it  may  be  inferred  that  his  portrayal  of 
court  life  was  drawn,  not  from  imagination,  but  from 
experience. 


I08  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

"  For,  sooth  to  say,  it  is  no  sort  of  life 
For  shepherd  fit  to  lead  in  that  same  place, 
Where  each  one  seeks  with  malice,  and  with  strife, 
To  thrust  down  other  in  foul  disgrace, 
Himself  to  raise  :  and  he  doth  soonest  rise 
That  best  can  handle  his  deceitful  wit 
In  subtle  shifts.  .   .  . 

To  which  him  needs  a  guileful,  hollow  heart 
Masked  with  fair  dissembling  courtesy, 
A  filed  tongue  furnisht  with  terms  of  art. 
No  art  of  school,  but  courtiers'  schoolery. 
For  arts  of  school  have  there  small  countenance, 
Counted  but  toys  to  busy  idle  brains. 
And  there  professors  find  small  maintenance, 
But  to  be  instruments  of  others'  gains, 
Nor  is  there  place  for  any  gentle  wit 
Unless  to  please  it  can  itself  apply." 

In  "  Mother  Hubbard's  Tale,"  which  exhibits  Spenser's 
genius  in  satire,  and  is  the  most  interesting  of  his  minor 
pieces,  he  has  spoken  of  the  court  in  some  vigorous  Hues. 
This  poem  was  pubhshed  in  1591  ;  and  though  composed, 
as  the  author  tells  us,  "  in  the  raw  conceit  of  youth,"  it 
shows  the  touch  of  his  mature  years.  No  doubt  it 
expresses  his  own  bitter  experience :  — 

"Full  little  knowest  thou  that  hast  not  tried 
What  hell  it  is  in  suing  long  to  abide ; 
To  lose  good  days  that  might  be  better  spent ; 
To  waste  long  nights  in  pensive  discontent ; 
To  speed  to-day,  to  be  put  back  to-morrow ; 
To  feed  on  hope,  to  pine  with  fear  and  sorrow ; 
To  have  thy  prince's  grace,  yet  want  her  peers' ; 
To  have  thy  asking,  yet  wait  many  years  ; 
To  fret  thy  soul  with  crosses  and  with  cares ; 
To  eat  thy  heart  through  comfortless  despairs ; 


EDMUND   SPENSER.  IO9 

To  fawn,  to  crouch,  to  wait,  to  ride,  to  run, 
To  spend,  to  give,  to  want,  to  be  undone. 
Unhappy  wight,  born  to  disastrous  end, 
That  doth  his  life  in  so  long  tendance  spend  ! '' 

The  first  three  books  of  the  "  Faery  Queene  "  were  pub- 
lished in  1590,  and  were  received  with  an  outburst  of 
applause.  Spenser  took  rank  as  the  first  of  living  poets. 
"The  admiration  of  this  great  poem,"  says  Hallam,  "was 
unanimous  and  enthusiastic.  No  academy  had  been 
trained  to  carp  at  his  genius  with  minute  cavilling ;  no 
recent  popularity,  no  traditional  fame  (for  Chaucer  was 
rather  venerated  than  much  in  the  hands  of  the  reader) 
interfered  with  the  immediate  recognition  of  his  suprem- 
acy. The  '  Faery  Queene '  became  at  once  the  delight  of 
every  accomplished  gentleman,  the  model  of  every  poet, 
and  the  solace  of  every  scholar."  Spenser  remained  in 
London  about  a  year  in  the  enjoyment  of  his  newly  won 
reputation  and  in  the  pursuit  of  preferment.  But  in  the 
latter  he  was  disappointed,  and  returned  to  Ireland,  as  we 
have  seen,  with  a  feeling  of  resentment  toward  the  man- 
ners and  morals  of  the  court. 

In  1594  he  married  a  lady  by  the  name  of  Elizabeth  — 
her  family  name  remaining  uncertain.  In  his  "  Amoretti, 
or  Sonnets,"  he  describes  the  beginning  and  progress  of 
his  affection.  These  sonnets  are  interesting,  not  only  for 
their  purity  and  delicacy  of  feeling,  but  also  for  the  light 
they  throw  on  the  poet's  life.  Whatever  may  have  been 
the  real  character  of  the  Irish  maiden  he  celebrates,  in 
the  poems  she  is  idealized  into  great  beauty.  It  was  only 
after  a  protracted  suit  that  the  .poet  met  with  encourage- 
ment and  was  able  to  say,  — 


no  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

"  After  long  storms'  and  tempests'  sad  assay, 
Which  hardly  I  endured  heretofore, 
In  dread  of  death,  and  dangerous  dismay, 
With  which  my  silly  bark  was  tossed  sore ; 
I  do  at  length  descry  the  hapjDy  shore. 
In  which  I  hope  ere  long  for  to  arrive  : 
Fair  soil  it  seems  from  far,  and  fraught  with  store 
Of  all  that  dear  and  dainty  is  alive. 
Most  happy  he  !  that  can  at  last  atchyve 
The  joyous  safety  of  so  sweet  a  rest ;  ^ 

Whose  least  delight  sufficeth  to  deprive 
Remembrance  of  all  pains  which  him  opprest. 

All  pains  are  nothing  in  respect  of  this  ; 

All  sorrows  short  that  gain  eternal  bliss." 

The  marriage,  which  took  place  in  1 594,  was  celebrated 
in  an  "  Epithalamion,"  which  ranks  as  the  noblest  bridal 
song  ever  written. 

In  1596  Spenser  wrote  his  "View  of  the  State  of  Ire- 
land," which  shows,  not  the  poet's  hand,  but  that  of  a 
man  of  affairs.  It  is  rigorous  in  policy  and  inexorable  in 
spirit.  He  sees  but  one  side  of  the  subject.  After  an 
elaborate  review  of  the  history,  character,  and  institutions 
of  the  Irish,  which  are  pronounced  full  of  "evil  usages," 
he  lays  down  his  plan  of  pacification.  Garrison  Ireland 
with  an  adequate  force  of  infantry  and  cavalry ;  give  the 
Irish  twenty  days  to  submit ;  and  after  that  time,  hunt 
down  the  rebels  like  wild  beasts.  "  If  they  be  well  fol- 
lowed one  winter,  ye  shall  have  little  work  to  do  with 
them  the  next  summer."  Famine  would  complete  the 
work  of  the  sword ;  and  in  less  than  two  years,  Spenser 
thought,  the  country  would  be  peaceful  and  open  to  Eng- 
lish   colonists.     Submission    or   extermination  —  this   was 


EDMUND   SPENSER.  Ill 

the  simple  solution  of  the  Irish  problem  he  proposed. 
"  Bloody  and  cruel"  he  recognized  it  to  be;  but  holding 
the  utter  subjugation  of  Ireland  necessary  to  the  preser- 
vation of  EngUsh  power  and  the  Protestant  religion,  he 
would  not  draw  back  "  for  the  sight  of  any  such  rueful 
object  as  must  thereupon  follow." 

In  1 598  Spenser  was  appointed  sheriff  of  Cork ;  and 
Tyrone's  rebellion  breaking  out  soon  afterward,  Kilcol- 
man  Castle  was  sacked  and  burned.  The  poet  and  his 
wife  escaped  with  difficulty,  and  it  is  probable  that  their 
youngest  child,  who  was  left  behind,  perished  in  the 
flames.  In  1599  Spenser,  overcome  by  misfortunes,  died 
in  a  common  London  inn,  and  was  buried  in  Westminster 
Abbey,  near  the  tomb  of  his  master,  Chaucer.  His  life 
was  full  of  disappointment.  He  never  obtained  the  pre- 
ferment to  which  he  aspired,  and  he  felt  his  failure  with 
all  the  keenness  of  sensitive  genius.  And  yet,  under  dif- 
ferent and  happier  circumstances,  his  great  natural  gifts 
would  probably  not  have  borne  so  rich  fruitage. 

All  that  we  know  of  Spenser  is  of  good  report.  He 
had  the  esteem  and  friendship  of  the  best  people  of  his 
time ;  he  was  faithful  in  his  attachments  and  irreproach- 
able in  his  outward  life.  In  his  comparative  seclusion  he 
was  able  to  forget  the  hard  realities  of  his  lot  and  to 
dwell  much  of  the  time  in  an  ideal  world  ;  and  the  poetic 
creations,  which  he  elaborated  in  the  quietude  of  Kilcol- 
man  Castle,  had  the  good  fortune  to  gain  immediate  and 
hearty  recognition.  He  has  been  aptly  styled  "  the  poet's 
poet "  ;  and  it  is  certain  that  his  writings,  especially  the 
"  Faery  Oueene,"  have  been  a  perennial  source  of  inspira- 
tion and  power  to  his  successors.     Pope  read  him  in  his 


1 1 2  ENGLISH  LITERA  TURE. 

old  age  with  the  same  zest  as  in  his  youth.  Dryden 
looked  up  to  him  as  a  master;  and  Milton  called  him 
"  our  sage  and  serious  poet,  whom  I  dare  be  known  to 
think  a  better  teacher  than  Scotus  or  Aquinas." 

As  already  stated,  the  first  three  books  of  the  "  Faery 
Queene "  were  published  in  1590.  Three  more  books 
appeared  in  1596  —  an  interval  that  indicates  the  conscien- 
tious labor  Spenser  bestowed  upon  his  productions.  The 
plan  of  the  work  contemplated  no  fewer  than  twelve 
books ;  but  in  its  present  incomplete  state  it  is  one  of 
the  longest  poems  in  the  language.  There  is  a  tradition 
that  three  unpublished  books  were  burned  in  the  destruc- 
tion of  Kilcolman  Castle,  but  it  is  probably  without  foun- 
dation. The  "  Faery  Queene  "  is  Spenser's  masterpiece. 
Keenly  sympathizing  with  all  the  great  interests  and 
movements  of  his  time,  he  embodied  in  this  work  his 
noblest  thoughts  and  feelings.  Here  his  genius  had  full 
play  and  attained  the  highest  results  of  which  it  was 
capable.  In  this  poem  the  Elizabethan  Age  is  reflected 
in  all  its  splendor. 

The  stanza  of  the  poem  was  the  poet's  own  invention 
and  properly  bears  his  name.  It  is  singularly  melodious 
and  effective,  and  has  since  been  made  the  medium  of  some 
of  the  finest  poetry  in  our  language,  —  Burns's  "  Cotter's 
Saturday  Night,"  Shelley's  "Revolt  of  Islam,"  Byron's 
"  Childe  Harold,"  and  many  other  poems.  Though  some- 
what difficult  in  its  structure,  Spenser  handled  it  with 
masterly  ease  and  skill,  and  poured  forth  his  treasures  of 
description,  narration,  reflection,  feeling,  and  fancy,  without 
embarrassment.  A  single  stanza,  descriptive  of  morning, 
must  suffice  by  way  of  illustration :  — 


EDMUND   SPENSER.  II3 

"  By  this  the  northerne  wagoner  had  set 
His  sevenfold  teme  behind  the  stedfast  starre 
That  was  in  ocean  waves  yet  never  wet, 
But  firme  is  fixt,  and  sendeth  light  from  farre 
To  al  that  in  the  wide  deepe  wandring  arre ; 
And  chearefull  chaunticlere  with  his  note  shrill 
Had  warned  once,  that  Phoebus  fiery  carre 
In  hast  was  climbing  up  the  easterne  hill, 
Full  envious  that  night  so  long  his  roome  did  fill." 

The  poem  is  itself  an  allegory,  a  form  that  the  poet  took 
some  pains  to  justify.  In  a  prefatory  letter  addressed  to 
Raleigh,  the  author  fully  explains  his  plan  and  makes 
clear  what  would  otherwise  have  remained  obscure.  "  The 
generall  end,  therefore,  of  all  the  booke,"  he  says,  "  is  to 
fashion  a  gentleman  or  noble  person  in  vertuous  and  gen- 
tle discipline.  Which  for  that  I  conceived  shoulde  be 
most  plausible  and  pleasing,  beeing  coloured  with  an  his- 
toricall  fiction,  the  which  the  most  part  of  men  delight  to 
read,  rather  for  varietie  of  matter  than  for  profit  of  the 
ensample :  I  chose  the  historic  of  King  Arthure,  as  most 
fit  for  the  excellencie  of  his  person,  beeing  made  famous 
by  many  men's  former  works,  and  also  furthest  from  the 
danger  of  envie,  and  suspicion  of  present  time."  Prince 
Arthur  is  the  central  figure  of  the  poem,  in  whose  person, 
Spenser  says,  "  I  sette  forth  magnificence  in  particular, 
which  vertue,  for  that  (according  to  Aristotle  and  the  rest) 
is  the  perfection  of  all  the  rest  and  containeth  in  it  them 
all,  therefore  in  the  whole  course  I  mention  the  deeds  of 
Arthure  appliable  to  that  vertue,  which  I  write  of  in  that 
booke." 

By  Diagnificcncc  Spenser  meant  magnanimity,  which,  ac- 
cording to  Aristotle,  contains  all  the  moral  virtues.     Twelve 


114  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Other  knights  are  made  the  representatives  or  patrons  of 
so  many  separate  virtues.  The  Knight  of  the  Red  Cross 
represents  holiness ;  Sir  Guyon,  temp eraf ice ;  Britomartis, 
a  lady  knight,  chastity ;  and  so  on.  But  the  allegory  is 
double.  In  addition  to  the  abstract  moral  virtues,  the 
leading  characters  represent  contemporary  persons.  The 
Faery  Queene  stands  for  the  glory  of  God  in  general,  and 
for  Queen  Elizabeth  in  particular ;  Arthur  for  viagna- 
niviity,  and  also  for  the  Earl  of  Leicester ;  the  Red  Cross 
Knight  for  holiness,  and  also  for  the  model  Englishman ; 
Una  for  tr/ith,  and  also  for  the  Protestant  church ;  Duessa 
for  falsehood,  and  also  for  the  Roman  church,  etc.  But 
in  this  second  part  of  the  allegory  a  close  resemblance  is 
not  to  be  expected,  as  flattery  often  guides  the  poet's  pen 
or  warps  his  judgment.  While  an  acquaintance  with  the 
allegory  is  necessary  for  a  complete  understanding  of  the 
poem,  it  adds  perhaps  but  little  to  the  interest  of  perusal. 
The  poem  possesses  an  intrinsic  interest  as  a  narrative  of 
adventure ;  and  our  sympathy  with  the  actual  personages 
moving  before  us  causes  us  to  lose  sight  of  their  typical 
character. 

The  "Faery  Queene,"  it  must  be  confessed,  is  defective 
in  construction.  Spenser  intended  to  follow  the  maxim  of 
Horace  and  the  example  of  Homer  and  Virgil  by  plunging 
into  the  m.idst  of  his  story  ;  but  he  failed  in  his  purpose, 
and  a  prose  introduction,  in  the  shape  of  a  letter  to  Raleigh, 
became  necessary  to  understand  the  poem.  "  The  methode 
of  a  poet  historicall  is  not  such  as  of  an  historiographer. 
For  an  historiographer  discourseth  of  affaires  orderly  as 
they  were  done,  accounting  as  well  the  times  as  the  ac- 
tions ;  but  a  poet  thrusteth  into  the  middest,  even  where  it 


EDMUND   SPENSER.  115 

most  concerneth  him,  and  there  recoursing  to  the  things 
forepast,  and  divining  of  things  to  come,  maketh  a  pleas- 
ing analysis  of  all.  The  beginning,  therefore,  of  my  his- 
torie,  if  it  were  to  be  told  by  an  historiographer,  should  be 
the  twelfth  booke,  which  is  the  last ;  where  I  devise  that 
the  Faery  Queene  kept  her  annuall  feast  twelve  daies ; 
upon  which  twelve  severall  dayes,  the  occasions  of  the 
twelve  severall  adventures  hapned,  which  being  under- 
taken by  xii.  severall  knights,  are  in  these  twelve  books 
severally  handled  and  discoursed." 

The  first  book  is  the  most  interesting  of  all.  In  the 
letter  already  quoted,  it  is  explained  as  follows :  "  In  the 
beginning  of  the  feast  there  presented  him  selfe  a  tall, 
clownish  younge  man,  who  failing  before  the  Queene  of 
Faeries  desired  a  boone  (as  the  manner  then  was)  which 
during  that  feast  she  might  not  refuse  ;  which  was  that 
hee  might  have  the  atchievement  of  any  adventure,  which 
during  that  feast  should  happen ;  that  being  granted,  he 
rested  him  selfe  on  the  floore,  unfit  through  his  rusticitie 
for  a  better  place.  Soone  after  entred  a  faire  ladie  in 
mourning  weedes,  riding  on  a  white  asse,  with  a  dwarfe 
behind  her  leading  a  warlike  steed,  that  bore  the  armes  ' 
of  a  knight,  and  his  spearc  in  the  dwarfe's  hand.  She 
falling  before  the  Queene  of  Faeries,  complayned  that 
her  father  and  mother,  an  ancient  king  and  queene,  had 
bene  by  an  huge  dragon  many  ycers  shut  up  in  a  brazen 
castle,  who  thence  suffered  them  not  to  issew :  and  there- 
fore besought  the  Faery  Queene  to  assigne  her  some  one 
of  her  knights  to  take  on  him  that  exployt.  Presently 
that  clownish  person  upstarting,  desired  that  adventure ; 
whereat  the  Queene  much  wondering,  and  the  lady  much 


1 1 6  ENGLISH  LITER  A  TURE. 

gain-saying,  yet  he  earnestly  importuned  his  desire.  In 
the  end  the  lady  told  him  that  unlesse  that  armour  which 
she  brought  would  serve  him  (that  is  the  armour  of  a 
Christian  man  specified  by  Saint  Paul,  v.  Ephes.)  that 
he  could  not  succeed  in  that  enterprise,  which  being  forth- 
with put  upon  him  with  due  furnitures  thereunto,  he 
seemed  the  goodliest  man  in  ai  that  company,  and  was 
well  liked  of  the  lady.  And  eftesoones  taking  on  him 
knighthood,  and  mounting  on  that  strange  courser,  he 
went  forth  with  her  on  that  adventure :  where  beginneth 
the  first  booke,  viz.,  — 

"  'A  gentle  knight  was  pricking  on  the  plaine,'  etc." 

The  allegory  of  the  "  Faery  Oueene  "  is  nowhere  more 
worthy  of  study  than  in  the  first  book.  Like  Bunyan's 
pilgrim,  the  Red  Cross  Knight  shows  the  conflicts  of  the 
human  soul  in  its  effort  to  attain  to  holiness.  This  is  the 
sublimest  of  all  conflicts.  The  knight,  clad  in  Christian 
armor,  set  forth  to  make  war  upon  the  dragon,  the  Old 
Serpent.  After  a  time  the  fight  of  heaven  is  shut  out  by 
clouds,  and  the  warrior  loses  his  way  in  the  "  wandering 
wood,"  the  haunt  of  Error. 

"  For  light  she  hated  as  the  deadly  bale, 
Ay  wont  in  desert  darkness  to  remaine, 
Where  plain  none  might  her  see,  nor  she  see  any  plain." 

Only  after  a  long  and  bitter  struggle,  typifying  the  con- 
flicts of  the  earnest  soul  in  search  of  truth,  does  the  Knight 
succeed  in  vanquishing  this  dangerous  foe.  This  danger 
passed,  another  follows.  The  hero,  with  his  fair  compan- 
ion, at  length  encounters  — 


EDMUND   SPENSER.  II y 

"  An  aged  sire,  in  long  blacke  weedes  yclad, 
His  feet  all  bare,  his  beard  all  hoarie  gray, 
And  by  his  belt  his  booke  he  hanging  had ; 
Sober  he  seemde,  and  very  sagely  sad, 
And  to  the  ground  his  eyes  were  lowly  bent, 
Simple  in  shew,  and  voide  of  malice  bad. 
And  all  the  way  he  prayed,  as  he  went, 
And  often  knockt  his  breast,  as  one  that  did  repent." 

This  was  Archimago  or  Hypocrisy,  who  deceives  the 
Knight  with  his  magic  art.  Truth  is  made  to  seem  false- 
hood, and  falsehood  truth.  This  deception  is  the  cause  of 
all  his  subsequent  trouble,  —  his  struggle  with  Sans  Foy  or 
Infidelity,  his  companionship  with  Duessa  or  Falsehood, 
his  sojourn  and  trials  at  the  palace  of  Pride,  and  his  cap- 
ture and  imprisonment  by  the  giant  Orgoglio  or  Antichrist. 
He  is  finally  delivered  by  Arthur,  and  conducted  by  Una 
to  the  house  of  Holiness,  where  he  is  taught  repentance. 
Spiritual  discipline  frees  him  from  all  his  stains,  and  sends 
him  forth  once  more  protected  with  his  celestial  armor. 
He  meets  the  grim  Dragon,  and  after  a  prolonged  conflict 
gloriously  triumphs.  The  book  naturally  ends  with  his 
betrothal  to  Una  or  Truth,  emblematic  of  eternal  union. 
Through  trials  and  suffering  to  final  victory  and  truth  — 
this  is  the  history  of  every  earnest  soul ;  and  never  before 
was  it  portrayed  with  such  magnificent  imagery  and  in 
such  melodious  language. 

As  will  be  readily  comprehended,  a  striking  feature  of 
the  poem  is  its  unlikeness  to  actual  life.  In  no  small  de- 
gree it  appears  artificial  and  unreal.  The  personages  are 
somewhat  shadowy.  A  large  part  of  the  incident  and  sen- 
timent belongs  to  an  ideal  age  of  chivalry.     All  this  is  apt 


Il8  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

to  affect  the  realistic  or  prosaic  reader  unpleasantly.  But 
the  poem  should  be  approached  in  the  spirit  with  which  it 
was  written.  Instead  of  stopping  to  criticise  the  ideas, 
fashions,  and  superstitions  of  the  Middle  Ages,  we  should 
surrender  ourselves  into  the  magician's  hands,  and  follow 
him  submissively  and  sympathetically  through  the  ideal 
realms  into  which  he  leads  us.  The  poem  then  becomes, 
in  the  words  of  Lowell,  "  the  land  of  pure  heart's  ease, 
where  no  ache  or  sorrow  of  spirit  can  come." 

Spenser  was  surpassingly  rich  in  imagination  —  that 
faculty  without  which  no  great  poem  is  possible.  He  pos- 
sessed an  extraordinary  power  for  appreciating  and  por- 
traying beauty.  His  mind  was  extremely  capacious;  and, 
gathering  all  the  literary  treasures  of  the  past,  whether 
mediaeval,  classic,  or  Christian,  he  gave  them  new  and 
fadeless  forms.  His  invention  was  almost  inexhaustible. 
His  facility  in  description  sometimes  betrayed  him  into 
tedious  excess.  In  his  fondness  for  details,  he  occasionally 
wrote  passages  that  are  simply  nauseating.  His  style 
lacks  the  classic  qualities  of  brevity,  force,  and  self-re- 
straint. But  we  shall  nowhere  else  find  a  more  flowing 
and  melodious  verse,  an  atmosphere  of  finer  sentiment, 
and  a  larger  movement  or  richer  coloring.  He  may  be 
fairly  styled  the  Rubens  of  English  poetry.  Every  canto 
of  the  "  Faery  Oueene "  presents  passages  in  which 
thought,  diction,  and  melody  are  combined  in  exquisite 
harmony. 


iluubruk.-u. 


FRANCIS  BACON.  IIQ 


FRANCIS    BACON. 

In  this  era  of  great  writers  the  name  of  Francis  Bacon, 
after  those  of  Shakespeare  and  Spenser,  stands  easily  first. 
He  was  great  as  a  lawyer,  as  a  statesman,  as  a  philoso- 
pher, as  an  author  —  great  in  everything,  alas  !  but  char- 
acter. Though  his  position  in  philosophy  is  still  a  matter 
of  dispute,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  he  deserves  to 
rank  with  Plato  and  Aristotle,  who  for  two  thousand  years 
ruled  the  philosophic  world. 

It  is  claimed  by  some  critics  that  Bacon's  method  of 
philosophizing  is  wanting  in  either  novelty  or  value,  and 
that  no  investigator  follows  his  rules.  There  is  much  truth 
in  this  claim,  and  yet  Bacon's  influence  in  modern  science 
is  preeminent.  That  which  has  counted  for  most  in  his 
philosophical  writings  is  his  spirit.  In  proud  recognition 
of  modern  ability  and  modern  advantages,  he  threw  off 
the  tyranny  of  the  ancients.  "  It  would  indeed  be  dis- 
honorable," he  says,  "to  mankind  if  the  regions  of  the 
material  globe,  the  earth,  the  sea,  the  stars,  should  be  so 
prodigiously  developed  and  illustrated  in  our  age,  and  yet 
the  boundaries  of  the  intellectual  globe  should  be  confined 
to  the  narrow  discoveries  of  the  ancients." 

He  looked  upon  knowledge,  not  as  an  end  in  itself,  to  be 
enjoyed  as  a  luxury,  but  as  a  means  of  usefulness  in  the 
service  of  men.  The  mission  of  philosophy  is  to  amelio- 
rate man's  condition, — -to  increase  his  power,  to  multiply 
his  enjoyments,  and  to  alleviate  his   sufferings.     He  dis- 


I20  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

carded  the  speculative  philosophy  which  seeks  to  build  up 
a  system  from  the  inner  resources  of  the  mind.  However 
admirable  in  logical  acuteness  and  consistency,  such  sys- 
tems are  apt  to  be  without  truth  or  utility.  "  The  wit  and 
mind  of  man,"  says  Bacon,  "  if  it  work  upon  matter,  which 
is  the  contemplation  of  the  creatures  of  God,  worketh 
according  to  the  stuff  and  is  limited  thereby  ;  but  if  it 
work  upon  itself,  as  the  spider  worketh  his  web,  then  it 
is  endless  and  brings  forth  indeed  cobwebs  of  learning, 
admirable  for  the  fineness  of  thread  and  work,  but  of  no 
substance  or  profit." 

He  constantly  urged  an  investigation  of  nature,  whereby 
philosophy  might  be  planted  on  a  solid  foundation  and 
receive  continual  accretions  of  truth.  Investigation,  ex- 
periment, verification  —  these  are  characteristic  features 
of  the  Baconian  philosophy  and  the  powerful  instruments 
with  which  modern  science  has  achieved  its  marvellous 
results. 

Francis  Bacon  was  born  in  London,  Jan.  22,  1561. 
His  father.  Sir  Nicholas  Bacon,  was  a  man  full  of  wit  and 
wisdom,  comprehensive  in  intellect,  retentive  to  a  re- 
markable degree  in  memory,  and  so  dignified  in  appear- 
ance and  bearing  that  Queen  Elizabeth  was  accustomed  to 
say,  "  My  Lord  Keeper's  soul  is  well  lodged."  His  mother 
was  no  less  remarkable  as  a  woman.  She  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  Sir  Anthony  Cooke,  tutor  to  King  Edward  VL, 
from  whom  she  received  a  careful  education.  She  was 
distinguished  not  only  for  her  womanly  and  conjugal  vir- 
tues, but  also  for  her  learning,  having  translated  a  work 
from  Italian  and  another  from  Latin. 

Thus  Bacon  was  fortunate  in  his  parents,  whose  intel- 


FRANCIS  BACON.  121 

lectual  superiority  he  inherited,  and  also  in  the  time  of  his 
birth,  "when,"  as  he  says,  "learning  had  made  her  third 
circuit ;  when  the  art  of  printing  gave  books  with  a  liberal 
hand  to  men  of  all  fortunes ;  when  the  nation  had  emerged 
from  the  dark  superstitions  of  popery ;  when  peace  through- 
out all  Europe  permitted  the  enjoyment  of  foreign  travel 
and  free  ingress  to  foreign  scholars  ;  and,  above  all,  when 
a  sovereign  of  the  highest  intellectual  attainments,  at  the 
same  time  that  she  encouraged  learning  and  learned  men, 
gave  an  impulse  to  the  arts  and  a  chivalric  and  refined 
tone  to  the  manners  of  the  people." 

He  was  delicate  in  constitution,  but  extraordinary  in  in- 
tellectual power.  Son  of  a  Lord  Keeper,  a  nephew  of  a 
Secretary  of  State,  he  was  brought  up  in  surroundings 
that  were  highly  favorable  to  intellectual  culture  and  ele- 
gant manners.  His  youthful  precocity  attracted  attention. 
Queen  Elizabeth,  delighted  with  his  childish  wisdom  and 
gravity,  playfully  called  him  her  "  Young  Lord  Keeper." 
When  she  asked  him  one  day  how  old  he  was,  with  a  deli- 
cate courtesy  beyond  his  years,  he  replied,  "  Two  years 
younger  than  your  majesty's  happy  reign."  His  disposi- 
tion was  reflective  and  serious ;  and  it  is  related  of  him 
that  he  stole  away  from  his  playmates  to  indulge  his  spirit 
of  investigation. 

At  the  early  age  of  thirteen  he  matriculated  in  Trinity 
College,  Cambridge,  and,  with  rare  penetration,  soon  dis- 
covered the  leading  defects  in  the  higher  education  of  the 
time.  The  principle  of  authority  prevailed  in  instruction 
to  the  suppression  of  free  inquiry.  The  university  was 
engaged,  not  in  broadening  the  field  of  knowledge  by 
discovery  of   new  truth,  but  in  disseminating  simply  the 


122  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

wisdom  of  the  ancients.  Aristotle  was  dictator,  from 
whose  utterances  there  was  no  appeal.  "  In  the  univer- 
sities," he  says,  "all  things  are  found  opposite  to  the 
advancement  of  the  sciences ;  for  the  readings  and  exer- 
cises are  here  so  managed  that  it  cannot  easily  come  into 
any  one's  mind  to  think  of  things  out  of  the  common 
road;  or  if,  here  and  there,  one  should  venture  to  use 
a  liberty  of  judging,  he  can  only  impose  the  task  upon 
himself  without  obtaining  assistance  from  his  fellows; 
and,  if  he  could  dispense  with  this,  he  will  still  find  his 
industry  and  resolution  a  great  hindrance  to  his  fortune. 
For  the  studies  of  men  in  such  places  are  confined  and 
pinned  down  to  the  writings  of  certain  authors,  from 
which,  if  any  man  happens  to  differ,  he  is  presently 
reprehended  as  a  disturber  and  innovator." 

Though  meeting  with  little  sympathy  in  his  spirit  of 
free  investigation.  Bacon  still  followed  the  bent  of  his 
genius.  While  yet  a  student,  he  planned  the  immortal 
work  which  was  to  influence  the  subsequent  course  of 
philosophy.  His  opinions  of  the  defects  existing  in  the 
universities  were  only  confirmed  by  age.  Some  years 
after  leaving  Cambridge,  he  advocated  the  establishment 
of  a  college  which  should  be  devoted  to  the  discovery  of 
new  truths  —  "a  living  spring  to  mix  with  the  stagnant 
waters."  He  complained  that  there  was  no  school  for 
the  training  of  statesmen,  —  a  fact  that  seemed  to  him 
prejudicial,  not  only  to  science,  but  also  to  the  state,  — 
and  that  the  weighty  affairs  of  the  kingdom  were  in- 
trusted to  men  whose  only  qualifications  were  a  "knowl- 
edge of  Latin  and  Greek,  and  verbal  criticisms  upon  the 
dead  languages." 


FRANCIS  BACON.  1 23 

After  a  residence  of  three  years  at  the  university,  he 
went  to  Paris  under  the  care  of  the  EngHsh  ambassador 
at  the  French  court.  He  was  sent  on  a  secret  mission 
to  Elizabeth  and  discharged  its  duties  with  such  ability 
as  to  win  the  queen's  approbation.  He  afterward  trav- 
elled in  the  French  provinces  and  met  many  distin- 
guished men  —  statesmen,  philosophers,  authors  —  who 
were  impressed  by  his  extraordinary  gifts  and  attain- 
ments. The  death  of  his  father  recalled  him  to  England 
in  1579;  and  finding  himself  without  adequate  means  to 
lead  a  life  of  philosophic  investigation,  it  became  neces- 
sary for  him,  as  he  expresses  it,  "to  think  how  to  live, 
instead  of  living  only  to  think." 

The  two  roads  open  to  him  were  law  and  politics,  and 
with  his  antecedents  he  naturally  inclined  to  the  latter. 
He  applied  to  his  uncle,  Lord  Burleigh,  for  a  position ; 
but  the  prime  minister,  fearing,  it  is  said,  the  abilities 
of  his  nephew,  used  his  influence  to  prevent  the  young 
applicant  from  obtaining  a  place  of  importance  and  emol- 
ument. Thus  disappointed  in  his  hopes.  Bacon  was 
reluctantly  obliged  to  betake  himself  to  the  law.  He 
gave  himself  with  industry  to  his  calling,  and  in  a  few 
years  attained  distinction  for  legal  knowledge  and  skill. 
As  might  naturally  be  supposed  from  the  philosophic 
cast  of  his  mind,  his  studies  were  not  confined  to  prece- 
dents and  authorities,  but  extended  to  the  universal 
principles  of  justice  and  the  whole  circle  of  knowledge. 
In  1 590  he  was  made  counsel-extraordinary  to  the  queen 
—  a  position,  it  seems,  of  more  honor  than  profit. 

With  this  appointment  began  his  political  career.  He 
sought  worldly  honors  and   wealth,    but  chiefly,  as  there 


124 


ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


is  reason  to  believe,  in  order  that  he  might  at  last  enjoy 
a  competency,  which  would  allow  him  to  retire  from 
official  cares  and  pursue  his  philosophical  studies  with- 
out distraction.  In  1592  he  was  elected  a  member  of 
Parhament  from  Middlesex.  He  advocated  comprehen- 
sive improvements  in  the  law.  On  one  occasion  he  in- 
curred the  queen's  displeasure  by  opposing  the  early 
payment  of  certain  subsidies  to  which  the  House  had 
consented.  When  her  displeasure  was  formally  com- 
municated to  him,  he  calmly  replied  that  "  he  spoke  in 
discharge  of  his  conscience  and  duty  to  God,  to  the 
queen,  and  to  his  country." 

His  connection  with  Parliament  was  characterized  by 
activity,  and  his  integrity  at  this  time  kept  him  from 
sacrificing  the  interests  of  England  at  the  foot  of  the 
throne.  As  an  orator  he  became  affluent,  weighty,  and 
eloquent.  "  No  man,"  says  Ben  Jonson,  "  ever  spake  more 
neatly,  more  pressly,  more  weightily,  or  suffered  less  emp- 
tiness, less  idleness  in  what  he  uttered :  no  member  of  his 
speech  but  consisted  of  its  own  graces.  His  hearers 
could  not  cough  or  look  aside  from  him  without  loss ;  he 
'commanded  when  he  spoke,  and  had  his  judges  angry  and 
pleased  at  his  devotion.  No  man  had  their  affections 
more  in  his  power  ;  the  fear  of  every  man  that  heard  him 
was  lest  he  should  make  an  end." 

In  1594  the  office  of  solicitor-general  became  vacant, 
and  Bacon  set  to  work  to  obtain  it.  Every  influence 
within  his  reach  was  brought  to  bear  upon  the  queen. 
Lord  Essex,  the  favorite  of  Elizabeth,  interested  himself 
especially  in  his  behalf.  But  every  effort  proved  unavail- 
ing.    Bacon,  like  Spenser,  felt  the  bitterness  of  seeking 


FRANCIS  BACON.  125 

preferment  at  court,  and  complained  that  he  was  like  a 
child  following  a  bird  which,  when  almost  within  reach, 
continually  flew  farther.  "I  am  weary  of  it,"  he  said,  "as 
also  of  wearying  my  friends." 

To  assuage  his  keen  disappointment,  Essex  bestowed 
upon  him  an  estate,  valued  at  eighteen  hundred  pounds, 
in  the  beautiful  village  of  Twickenham.  The  earl  con- 
tinued to  befriend  him  through  a  long  period.  When 
Bacon  wished  to  marry  Lady  Hatton,  a  woman  of  large 
fortune,  Essex  supported  his  suit  with  a  strong  letter  to 
her  parents.  But  in  spite  of  Bacon's  merit  and  his  noble 
patron's  warmth,  the  heart  of  the  lady  remained  un- 
touched ;  and  fortunately  for  Bacon,  as  a  biographer  sug- 
gestively remarks,  she  afterward  became  the  wife  of  his 
great  rival,  Sir  Edward  Coke. 

When,  a  few  years  later,  Essex,  through  his  imprudence, 
incurred  the  queen's  disfavor,  and  by  treason  forfeited  his 
life.  Bacon  appeared  against  him.  For  this  act  he  has 
been  severely  censured.  Macaulay,  especially,  in  his  fa- 
mous essay,  displays  the  zeal  of  an  advocate  in  making 
him  appear  in  a  bad  light,  affirming  that  "  he  exerted  his 
professional  talents  to  shed  the  earl's  blood,  and  his  lit- 
erary talents  to  blacken  the  earl's  memory."  Though  it 
cannot  be  maintained  that  Bacon  acted  the  part  of  a  high- 
minded,  generous  friend,  or  that  his  course  was  in  any 
way  justifiable,  an  impartial  survey  of  the  facts  does  not 
justify  Macaulay's  severity. 

In  1597  Bacon  published  a  collection  of  ten  essays, 
which  were  afterward  increased  to  fifty-eight.  If  he  had 
written  nothing  else,  these  alone  would  have  entitled  him 
to  an  honorable  place  in  English  literature.     Though  brief 


126  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

in  form,  they  are  weighty  in  thought.  The  style  is  clear ; 
and  the  language,  as  in  the  essay  on  "Adversity,"  often 
rises  into  great  beauty.  They  were  composed,  as  he  tells 
us,  as  a  recreation  from  severer  studies,  but  contain,  never- 
theless, the  richest  results  of  his  thinking  and  experience. 
They  were  popular  from  the  time  of  their  publication  ; 
they  were  at  once  translated  into  French,  Italian,  and 
Latin,  and  no  fewer  than  six  editions  appeared  during 
the  author's  life. 

An  extract  or  two  will  illustrate  their  style.  In  the 
essay  on  "  Adversity,"  he  says  :  — 

"  The  virtue  of  prosperity  is  temperance,  the  virtue  of 
adversity  is  fortitude,  which  in  morals  is  the  more  heroical 
virtue.  Prosperity  is  the  blessing  of  the  Old  Testament, 
adversity  is  the  blessing  of  the  New,  which  carrieth  the 
greater  benediction,  and  the  clearer  revelation  of  God's 
favor.  Yet,  even  in  the  Old  Testament,  if  you  listen  to 
David's  harp,  you  shall  hear  as  many  hearse-hke  airs  as 
carols  ;  and  the  pencil  of  the  Holy  Ghost  hath  labored 
more  in  describing  the  afflictions  of  Job  than  the  felicities 
of  Solomon.  Prosperity  is  not  without  many  fears  and 
distastes;  and  adversity  is  not  without  comforts  and 
hopes." 

In  the  essay  on  "Studies,"  which  is  one  of  the  most 
compact  and  thoughtful  of  them  all,  we  find  the  oft-quoted 
passage :  — 

"  Studies  serve  for  delight,  for  ornament,  and  for  ability. 
Their  chief  use  for  delight  is  in  privateness  and  retiring ; 
for  ornament,  is  in  discourse ;  and  for  ability,  is  in  the 
judgment  and  disposition  of  business :  for  expert  men  can 
execute,  and  perhaps  judge  of  particulars,  one  by  one; 


FRANCIS  BACON.  12/ 

but  the  general  counsels,  and  the  plots  and  marshalling  of 
affairs,  come  best  from  those  that  are  learned.  To  spend 
too  much  time  in  studies,  is  sloth ;  to  use  them  too  much 
for  ornament,  is  affectation ;  to  make  judgment  wholly  by 
their  rules,  is  the  humor  of  a  scholar :  they  perfect  na- 
ture, and  are  perfected  by  experience  :  for  natural  abilities 
are  like  natural  plants,  that  need  pruning  by  study ;  and 
studies  themselves  do  give  forth  directions  too  much  at 
large,  except  they  be  bounded  in  by  experience.  Crafty 
men  contemn  studies,  simple  men  admire  them,  and  wise 
men  use  them ;  for  they  teach  not  their  own  use,  but  that 
is  a  wisdom  without  them  and  above  them,  won  by  obser- 
vation. Read  not  to  contradict  and  confute,  nor  to  be- 
lieve and  take  for  granted,  nor  to  find  talk  and  discourse, 
but  to  weigh  and  consider.  Some  books  are  to  be  tasted, 
others  to  be  swallowed,  and  some  few  to  be  chewed  and 
digested ;  that  is,  some  books  are  to  be  read  only  in  parts, 
others  to  be  read,  but  not  curiously ;  a.nd  some  few  to  be 
read  wholly,  and  with  diligence  and  attention." 

Though  it  is  through  his  other  writings  —  the  "Novum 
Organum  "  and  "  The  Advancement  of  Learning"  —  that 
he  has  exerted  the  greatest  influence,  it  is  the  "  Essays  " 
that  have  been  most  widely  read,  coming  home,  as  he  says, 
"  to  men's  business  and  bosoms."  Archbishop  Whately 
said  :  "  I  am  old-fashioned  enough  to  admire  Bacon,  whose 
remarks  are  taken  in  and  assented  to  by  persons  of  ordi- 
nary capacity,  and  seem  nothing  very  profound ;  but  when 
a  man  comes  to  reflect  and  observe,  and  his  faculties  en- 
large, he  then  sees  more  in  them  than  he  did  at  first, 
and  more  still  as  he  advances  further ;  his  admiration  of 
Bacon's  profundity  increasing  as  he  himself  grows  Intel- 


128  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

lectually.  Bacon's  wisdom  is  like  the  seven-league  boots, 
which  would  fit  the  giant  or  the  dwarf,  except  only  that 
the  dwarf  cannot  take  the  same  stride  in  them." 

The  distinguished  Scotch  philosopher,  Dugald  Stewart, 
bears  similar  testimony,  which  indeed  is  confirmed  by  the 
judgment  of  every  competent  reader:  "The  small  volume 
to  which  he  has  given  the  title  of  '  Essays,'  the  best  known 
and  the  most  popular  of  all  his  works,  is  one  of  those 
where  the  superiority  of  his  genius  appears  to  the  greatest 
advantage ;  the  novelty  and  depth  of  his  reflections  often 
receiving  a  strong  relief  from  the  triteness  of  the  subject. 
It  may  be  read  from  beginning  to  end  in  a  few  hours,  and 
yet  after  the  twentieth  perusal  one  seldom  fails  to  remark 
in  it  something  overlooked  before.  This,  indeed,  is  a 
characteristic  of  all  Bacon's  writings,  and  is  only  to  be 
accounted  for  by  the  inexhaustible  aliment  they  furnish  to 
our  own  thoughts,  and  the  sympathetic  activity  they  im- 
part to  our  torpid  faculties." 

After  the  accession  of  James  I.  in  1603,  whose  favor  he 
made  great  efforts  to  placate.  Bacon  rose  rapidly  in  posi- 
tion and  honor.  That  year  he  was  elevated  to  the  order 
of  knighthood,  and  the  following  year  appointed  salaried 
counsel  to  the  king  —  a  mark  of  favor  almost  without  prec- 
edent. In  161 3  he  was  advanced  to  the  office  of  attorney- 
general.  In  161 7  he  was  created  Lord  Keeper  of  the 
Great  Seal  of  England  —  a  dignity  of  which  he  was  proud; 
and  the  following  year  he  was  made  Lord  High  Chancel- 
lor, the  summit  of  his  ambition  and  political  elevation. 

Fond  of  elegant  surroundings,  he  lived  in  great  state, 
with  liveried  servants,  beautiful  mansions,  and  magnificent 
gardens.     He  was  inconsiderate  and  lavish  in  his  expendi- 


FRANCIS  BACON.  1 29 

tures ;  and  while  laboring  with  conscientious  fidelity  to 
improve  the  laws  of  the  kingdom  and  to  facilitate  the 
administration  of  justice,  his  personal  character,  it  must 
be  acknowledged,  did,  not  remain  above  suspicion  and 
reproach.  He  was  unduly  subservient  to  the  king ;  and 
to  maintain  his  outward  splendor,  he  accepted  presents,  if 
not  bribes,  from  persons  interested  in  his  judicial  decisions. 
Being  tried  by  Parliament,  he  made  confession  to  twenty- 
eight  charges  of  corruption,  whereupon  he  was  condemned 
to  pay  a  fine  of  forty  thousand  pounds,  to  be  imprisoned 
in  the  Tower  during  the  king's  pleasure,  and  to  be  de- 
barred from  any  office  in  the  state.  Thus,  in  1621,  Bacon 
fell  from  his  high  position,  ruined  in  fortune  and  broken 
in  spirit.  Though  released  from  the  Tower  after  an  im- 
prisonment of  two  days,  and  relieved  also  of  the  payment 
of  the  fine,  he  never  recovered  from  his  disgrace. 

It  is  difficult  now  to  determine  the  extent  of  his  guilt. 
It  is  certain  that  he  was  not,  what  Pope  pronounced  him, 
"  the  meanest  of  mankind."  The  truth  probably  is  that  he 
was  morally  weak  rather  than  basely  corrupt.  Though 
he  received  presents  or  bribes,  it  can  hardly  be  shown  that 
he  purposely  perverted  justice.  It  was  not  unusual  for 
judges  at  that  day  to  receive  presents.  There  is  no 
sufficient  reason  to  doubt  his  sincerity  and  justice  when 
he  wrote :  "  For  the  briberies  and  gifts  wherewith  I  am 
charged,  when  the  book  of  hearts  shall  be  opened,  I  hope 
I  shall  not  be  found  to  have  the  troubled  fountain  of  the 
corrupt  heart,  in  a  depraved  habit  of  taking  rewards  to 
pervert  justice  ;  howsoever  I  may  be  frail,  and  partake  of 
the  abuses  of  the  time."  He  was,  in  some  measure,  a 
victim  of  secret  enmity  and  parliamentary  clamor;  and  in 

K 


I30  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

his  will  he  did  wisely  to  appeal  from  the  prejudice  about 
him  to  the  impartial  judgment  of  posterity.  "  For  my 
name  and  memory,"  he  pathetically  writes,  "  I  leave  it 
to  men's  charitable  speeches,  to  foreign  nations,  and  the 
next  ages." 

The  colossal  cast  of  Bacon's  mind  is  seen  in  his  great 
philosophical  scheme  entitled  the  "  Instauratio  Magna,  or 
the  Great  Institution  of  True  Philosophy,"  which  embodies 
his  principal  writings.  It  was  to  consist  of  six  parts,  the 
completion  of  which  was  necessarily  beyond  the  power  of 
one  man  or  even  of  one  age  :  — 

I.  Divisions  of  the  Sciences.  "  This  part  exhibits  a 
summary,  or  universal  description,  of  such  science  and 
learning  as  mankind  is,  up  to  this  time,  in  possession  of." 

II.  Novum  Organjim  ;  Precepts  for  the  Interpretation  of 
Nature.  "  The  object  of  the  second  part  is  the  doctrine 
touching  a  better  and  more  perfect  use  of  reasoning  in  the 
investigation  of  things,  and  the  true  helps  of  the  under- 
standing; that  it  may  by  this  means  be  raised,  as  far  as 
our  human  and  mortal  nature  will  admit,  and  be  enlarged 
in  its  powers  so  as  to  master  the  arduous  and  obscure 
secrets  of  nature." 

III.  Phenomena  of  the  Universe ;  or,  Natural  and  Ex- 
perimental History  on  which  to  found  Philosophy.  "  The 
third  part  of  our  work  embraces  the  phenomena  of  the 
universe  ;  that  is  to  say,  experience  of  every  kind,  and  such 
a  natural  history  as  can  form  the  foundation  of  an  edifice 
of  philosophy." 

IV.  Scale  of  Understanditig.  "  The  fourth  part  ...  is 
in  fact  nothing  more  than  a  particular  and  fully  developed 
application  of  the  second  part." 


FRANCIS  BACON.  I3I 

V.  Precursor's  or  Anticipations  of  the  Second  PhilosopJiy. 
"  We  compose  this  fifth  part  of  the  work  of  those  matters 
which  we  have  either  discovered,  tried,  or  added." 

VI.  Sound  PhilosopJiy,  or  Active  Science.  "  Lastly,  the 
sixth  part  of  our  work  (to  which  the  rest  are  subservient 
and  auxihary)  discloses  and  propounds  that  philosophy 
v\^hich  is  reared  and  formed  by  the  legitimate,  pure,  and 
strict  method  of  investigation  previously  taught  and  pre- 
pared. But  it  is  both  beyond  our  power  and  expectation 
to  perfect  and  conclude  this  last  part." 

In  the  first  part  of  this  vast  scheme  Bacon  embodied, 
in  a  revised  form,  the  "  Advancement  of  Learning,"  his 
earliest  philosophical  work,  published  in  1605.  It  made 
a  complete  survey  of  the  field  of  learning,  for  the  purpose 
of  indicating  what  departments  of  knowledge  had  received 
due  attention,  and  what  subjects  yet  needed  cultivation. 
It  is  a  rich  mine  of  wisdom  and  learning.  But  the  most 
celebrated  part  of  the  "Instauratio  Magna"  is  the  "Novum 
Organum,"  in  which  Bacon's  philosophical  method  is  un- 
folded. It  is  written  in  the  form  of  aphorisms,  several  of 
which,  including  the  first,  are  here  given  as  indicating  the 
character  of  the  whole  work  :  — 

"  I.  Man,  as  the  minister  and  interpreter  of  nature,  does 
and  understands  as  much  as  his  observations  on  the  order 
of  nature,  either  with  regard  to  things  or  the  mind,  permit 
him,  and  neither  knows  nor  is  capable  of  more. 

"  IX.  The  sole  cause  and  root  of  almost  every  defect  in 
the  sciences  is  this ;  that  whilst  we  falsely  admire  and 
extol  the  powers  of  the  human  mind,  we  do  not  search  for 
its  real  helps. 

"  XIX.    There  are  and  can  exist  but  two  ways  of  investi- 


132  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

gating  and  discovering  truth.  The  one  hurries  on  rapidly 
from  the  senses  and  particulars  to  the  most  general  axioms ; 
and  from  them  as  principles  and  their  supposed  indisputa- 
ble truth  derives  and  discovers  the  intermediate  axioms. 
This  is  the  way  now  in  use.  The  other  constructs  its  axioms 
from  the  senses  and  particulars,  by  ascending  continually 
and  gradually,  till  it  finally  arrives  at  the  most  general 
axioms,  which  is  the  true  but  unattempted  way." 

A  well-known  and  valuable  portion  of  the  "  Novum 
Organum  "  is  the  discussion  of  the  influences  which  warp 
the  human  mind  in  the  pursuit  of  truth.  These  warping 
influences  Bacon  calls  idols;  and  his  exposition  of  the 
subject,  which  cannot  be  fully  inserted  here,  has  never 
been  surpassed  in  analytical  scope  and  power. 

"  XXXIX.  Four  species  of  idols  beset  the  human  mind; 
to  which,  for  distinction's  sake,  we  have  assigned  names, 
calling  the  first,  idols  of  the  tribe ;  the  second,  idols  of  the 
den  ;  the  third,  idols  of  the  market ;  the  fourth,  idols  of 
the  theatre. 

"XLI.  The  idols  of  the  tribe  are  inherent  in  human 
nature,  and  the  very  tribe  or  race  of  man.  For  man's 
sense  is  falsely  asserted  to  be  the  standard  of  things.  On 
the  contrary,  all  the  perceptions,  both  of  the  senses  and 
the  mind,  bear  reference  to  man,  and  not  to  the  universe, 
and  the  human  mind  resembles  those  uneven  mirrors, 
which  impart  their  own  properties  to  different  objects, 
from  which  rays  are  emitted,  and  distort  and  disfigure 
them. 

"XLI I.  The  idols  of  the  den  are  those  of  each  individ- 
ual. For  everybody  (in  addition  to  the  errors  common  to 
the  race  of  man)  has  his  own  individual  den  or  cavern, 


FRANCIS  BACON.  1 33 

which  intercepts  and  corrupts  the  light  of  nature ;  either 
from  his  own  pecuUar  and  singular  disposition,  or  from 
his  education  and  intercourse  with  others,  or  from  his  read- 
ing, and  the  authority  acquired  by  those  whom  he  rever- 
ences and  admires,  or  from  the  different  impressions 
produced  on  the  mind,  as  it  happens  to  be  preoccupied 
and  predisposed,  or  equable  and  tranquil,  and  the  like ; 
so  that  the  spirit  of  man  (according  to  its  several  disposi- 
tions) is  variable,  confused,  and,  as  it  were,  actuated  by 
chance ;  and  Heraclitus  said  well  that  men  search  for 
knowledge  in  lesser  worlds,  and  not  in  the  greater  or 
common  world. 

"XLIII.  There  are  also  idols  formed  by  the  reciprocal 
intercourse  and  society  of  man  with  man,  which  we  call 
idols  of  the  market,  from  the  commerce  and  association  of 
men  with  each  other.  For  men  converse  by  means  of  lan- 
guage ;  but  words  are  formed  at  the  will  of  the  generality ; 
and  there  arises  from  a  bad  and  unapt  formation  of  words 
a  wonderful  obstruction  to  the  mind.  Nor  can  the  defini- 
tions and  explanations,  with  which  learned  men  are  wont 
to  guard  and  protect  themselves  in  some  instances,  afford 
a  complete  remedy ;  words  still  manifestly  force  the  under- 
standing, throw  everything  into  confusion,  and  lead  man- 
kind into  vain  and  innumerable  controversies  and  fallacies. 

"XLIV.  Lastly,  there  are  idols  which  have  crept  into 
men's  minds  from  the  various  dogmas  of  peculiar  systems 
of  philosophy,  and  also  from  the  perverted  rules  of  demon- 
stration, and  these  we  denominate  idols  of  the  theatre. 
For  we  regard  all  the  systems  of  philosophy  hitherto  re- 
ceived or  imagined,  as  so  many  plays  brought  out  and 
performed,  creating  fictitious  and  theatrical  worlds." 


134  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

However  much  men  may  differ  in  their  estimate  of 
Bacon's  method  and  position  in  philosophy,  all  agree  in 
recognizing  his  intellectual  greatness.  It  would  be  easy 
to  fill  pages  with  the  glowing  tributes  that  have  been  paid 
him,  not  only  by  English,  but  also  by  French  and  German, 
writers.  Hallam,  who  is  not  given  to  inconsiderate  pane- 
gyric, says :  "  If  we  compare  what  may  be  found  in  the 
sixth,  seventh,  and  eighth  books  '  De  Augmentis ' ;  in  the 
'Essays,' the  'History  of  Henry  VII.,' and  the  various  short 
treatises  contained  in  his  works  on  moral  and  political 
wisdom,  and  on  human  nature,  from  experience  of  which 
all  such  wisdom  is  drawn,  with  the  Rhetoric,  Ethics,  and 
Politics  of  Aristotle,  or  with  the  historians  most  celebrated 
for  their  deep  insight  into  civil  society  and  human  char- 
acter; with  Thucydides,  Tacitus,  Philip  de  Comines,  Ma- 
chiavel,  Davila,  Hume,  we  shall,  I  think,  find  that  one 
man  may  almost  be  compared  with  all  of  these  together." 

An  able  German  scholar  assigns  Bacon  a  high  rank  as 
a  philosopher  and  educator  because  he  was  "  the  first  to 
say  to  the  learned  men  who  lived  and  toiled  in  the  lan- 
guages and  writings  of  antiquity,  and  who  were  mostly 
only  echoes  of  the  old  Greeks  and  Romans,  yea,  who  knew 
nothing  better  than  to  be  such  :  '  There  is  also  a  present, 
only  open  your  eyes  to  recognize  its  splendor.  Turn  away 
from  the  shallow  springs  of  traditional  natural  science, 
and  draw  from  the  unfathomable  and  ever  freshly  flowing 
fountain  of  creation.  Live  in  nature  with  active  senses; 
ponder  it  in  your  thoughts,  and  learn  to  comprehend  it, 
for  thus  you  will  be  able  to  control  it.  Power  increases 
with  knowledge.'  "  ^ 

^  Raumer,  "  Geschichte  der  Padagogik." 


FRANCIS  BACON.  135 

Bacon  had  unswerving  faith  in  the  power  of  truth,  and 
he  confidently  looked  forward  to  a  time  when  the  value  of 
his  teachings  would  be  recognized.  The  fulfilment  of  the 
following  prediction  establishes  the  character  and  mission 
of  the  prophet :  "  I  have  held  up  a  light  in  the  obscurity 
of  philosophy,"  he  says,  "which  will  be  seen  centuries 
after  I  am  dead.  It  will  be  seen  amid  the  erection  of 
temples,  tombs,  palaces,  theatres,  bridges,  making  noble 
roads,  cutting  canals,  granting  multitudes  of  charters  and 
liberties  for  comfort  of  decayed  companies  and  corpora- 
tions ;  the  foundation  of  colleges  and  lectures  for  learning 
and  the  education  of  youth ;  foundations  and  institutions 
of  orders  and  fraternities  for  nobility,  enterprise,  and 
obedience ;  but,  above  all,  the  establishing  good  laws  for 
the  regulation  of  the  kingdom,  and  as  an  example  to 
the  world." 


136 


ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE. 


From  the  time  of  Chaucer  to  the  present  day,  England 
has  produced  many  great  writers  —  almost  colossal  figures 
in  universal  literature.  Chaucer,  Spenser,  Bacon,  Milton, 
Tennyson  —  these  are  great  names;  but  by  common  con- 
sent Shakespeare  towers  above  them  all.  The  case  is  not 
altered  when  we  take  into  account  other  nations.  Greece 
had  its  Homer ;  Rome,  its  Virgil ;  Italy,  its  Dante ;  Ger- 
many, its  Goethe  ;  France,  its  Hugo.  But  if  the  judgment 
of  competent  critics  were  taken,  Shakespeare  would  be 
placed  on  the  throne  as  king  among  great  writers,  living 
and  dead. 

If  the  great  dramatist  had  left  an  autobiography,  we 
should  esteem  it  one  of  our  greatest  literary  treasures.  If 
some  Boswell  had  dogged  his  footsteps,  noted  carefully  the 
incidents  of  his  everyday  Hfe,  and  recorded  the  sentiments 
and  thoughts  that  dropped  spontaneously  from  his  hps, 
how  eagerly  we  should  read  the  book  to  gain  a  clearer 
insight  into  the  great  master's  soul.  As  it  is,  we  are  shut 
up  to  very  meagre  records,  to  names  and  dates  found  in 
business  accounts  or  legal  documents ;  and  the  greatest 
genius  of  all  literature  is  concealed  behind  his  works  almost 
in  the  haze  of  a  myth.  We  are  dependent,  not  upon  his- 
tory, but  upon  fancy,  to  fill  up  the  measure  of  what  must 
have  been  an  interesting,  varied,  and  bountiful  life. 

William  Shakespeare  was  born    in    Stratford-on-Avon, 


Etched  by  Liopold  Flaming  after  tlic  Chandus  painting 


(y2^^ 


'VtS/vV 


^^^i(r' 


■£^. 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE.  1 37 

April  21,  1564.  On  his  father's  side,  he  was  of  Saxon 
lineage ;  on  his  mother's  side,  he  was  of  Norman  descent  ; 
and  in  his  character  the  qualities  of  these  two  races  — 
Saxon  sturdiness  and  Norman  versatility  —  were  exquis- 
itely harmonized.  His  father,  John  Shakespeare,  was  a 
glover,  wool-dealer,  and  yeoman,  who  attained  prominence 
in  Stratford  as  an  alderman  and  bailiff.  He  was  a  man  of 
substantial  qualities,  and  for  many  years  lived  in  easy  cir- 
cumstances ;  but  afterward,  when  his  son  was  passing  into 
early  manhood,  he  suffered  a  sad  decline  in  fortune.  Will- 
iam's mother,  Mary  Arden,  was  brought  up  on  a  landed 
estate ;  and  besides  inheriting  from  her  the  finer  qualities 
of  his  mind,  the  future  poet  probably  learned  under  her 
influence  to  appreciate  the  exceeding  beauty  of  gentle  and 
tender  womanhood. 

His  education  was  received  in  the  free  school  of  Strat- 
ford, and  included,  besides  the  elementary  branches  of 
English,  the  rudiments  of  classical  learning  —  the  "  small 
Latin  and  less  Greek  "  which  Ben  Jonson  attributed  to 
him.  His  acquisitive  powers  were  extraordinary  ;  and,  as 
is  evident  from  his  works,  this  elementary  training,  which 
appears  so  inadequate,  was  afterward  increased  by  rich 
stores  of  learning  and  wisdom.  He  exhibits  not  only  a 
wide  general  knowledge,  but  also  a  technical  acquaintance 
with  several  callings,  including  law,  medicine,  and  divinity. 

In  1582,  at  the  youthful  age  of  eighteen,  he  married  Ann 
Hathaway,  who  was  eight  years  his  senior.  Whether  the 
marriage  was  a  matter  of  choice  or,  as  some  believe,  a 
necessity  forced  upon  him,  does  not  clearly  appear.  His 
wife,  the  daughter  of  a  substantial  yeomen,  was  not  un- 
worthy of  him ;    and   the   marriage  was  probably  a  love 


138  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

match,  which  proudly  disdained  the  disparity  in  years.  It 
is  assumed  by  many  critics  that  the  union  was  necessarily 
an  unhappy  one  ;  but  an  examination  of  the  evidence  leads 
to  a  different  conclusion.  In  his  sonnets  there  are  several 
loving  passages  that  seem  to  refer  to  his  wife  ;  and  as  soon 
as  he  had  acquired  wealth  in  his  theatrical  career  in  the 
metropolis,  he  returned  to  Stratford  to  spend  his  last  years 
in  the  bosom  of  his  family. 

Several  years  after  his  marriage,  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
two,  he  went  to  London.  There  is  a  tradition  that  his 
departure  from  Stratford  was  the  result  of  a  deer-stealing 
escapade,  for  which  he  was  sharply  prosecuted  by  an  irate 
landlord.  Though  the  poaching  is  probably  not  a  myth, 
his  departure  may  be  satisfactorily  explained  on  other 
grounds.  Conscious  no  doubt  of  his  native  genius,  it  was 
but  natural  for  him  to  seek  his  fortune  amidst  the  oppor- 
tunities afforded  in  a  large  city. 

His  poetic  gifts  and  his  acquaintance  with  the  drama,  as 
learned  through  visiting  troupes  in  his  native  village,  natu- 
rally drew  him  to  the  theatre.  He  held  at  first  a  subordi- 
nate position,  and  worked  upward  by  degrees.  He  recast 
plays  and  performed  as  an  actor,  for  which  his  handsome 
and  shapely  form  peculiarly  fitted  him.  "  The  top  of  his 
performance,"  says  an  old  historian,  "was  the  Ghost  in  his 
own  Hamlet."  His  progress  was  rapid,  and  at  the  end  of 
six  years  he  had  achieved  no  small  reputation.  His  suc- 
cess aroused  the  envy  of  some  of  his  fellow-playwrights ; 
and  Greene,  in  a  scurrilous  pamphlet,  accused  him  of  plagi- 
arism, calling  him  "  an  upstart  crow  beautified  with  our 
feathers." 

His  ability  attracted  the  attention  of  the  court  and  the 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE.  1 39 

nobility.  To  the  young  Earl  of  Southampton  he  dedicated 
in  1593  his  "  Venus  and  Adonis,"  which  the  poet,  in  a  short 
and  manly  dedicatory  letter,  styles  "  the  first  heir  of  my 
invention  "  ;  and  in  return  he  is  said  to  have  received  from 
that  nobleman  the  princely  gift  of  a  thousand  pounds.  In 
Spenser's  "  Colin  Clout's  Come  Home  Again,"  we  find  this 
reference  to  Shakespeare  :  — 

"  And  here,  though  last  not  least,  is  Aetion ; 
A  gentler  shepherd  may  nowhere  be  found ; 
Whose  muse,  full  of  high  thought's  invention, 
Doth,  like  himself,  heroically  sound." 

His  plays  delighted  Elizabeth,  who  was  a  steady  patron 
of  the  drama ;  and  there  is  a  tradition  that  the  queen  was 
so  pleased  with  Falstaff  in  "  King  Henry  the  Fourth," 
that  she  requested  the  poet  to  continue  the  character  in 
another  play  and  to  portray  him  in  love.  The  result  was 
"The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor." 

Unlike  many  of  his  fellow-dramatists,  Shakespeare 
avoided  a  life  of  extravagance  and  dissipation.  He  showed 
that  high  literary  genius  is  not  inconsistent  with  business 
sagacity.  Not  content  with  being  actor  and  author,  he  be- 
came a  large  shareholder  in  the  Blackfriars  and  the  Globe, 
the  two  leading  theatres  of  his  day.  Wealth  accumulated  ; 
and  with  an  affectionate  remembrance  of  his  native  town, 
he  purchased  in  1597  a  handsome  residence  in  Stratford. 
He  continued  to  make  judicious  investments;  and  a  careful 
estimate  places  his  income  in  1608  at  about  four  hundred 
pounds  a  year — equivalent  to  $12,000  at  the  present  time. 

We  have  several  pleasing  glimpses  of  his  social  life  in 
London.     He  had  a  reputation  for  civility  and  honesty ; 


I40  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

he  frequented  the  Mermaid,  where  he  met  Ben  Jonson  and 
the  other  leading  wits  of  his  day.  Beaumont  probably  had 
him  in  mind  when  he  wrote  :  — 

"  What  things  have  we  seen 
Done  at  the  Mermaid  !     Heard  words  that  have  been 
So  nimble,  and  so  full  of  subtile  flame, 
As  if  that  every  one  from  whence  they  came 
Had, meant  to  put  his  whole  wit  in  a  jest. 
And  had  resolved  to  live  a  fool  the  rest 
Of  his  dull  life." 

The  following  testimony  of  the  rough,  upright  Ben 
Jonson  is  of  special  value :  "  I  loved  the  man,  and  do 
honor  his  memory,  on  this  side  idolatry,  as  much  as  any. 
He  was  indeed  honest,  and  of  an  open  and  free  nature ; 
had  an  excellent  phantasy,  brave  notions,  and  gentle 
expressions." 

With  wealth  and  genius,  it  was  not  unnatural  for  the 
poet  to  desire  a  higher  social  rank.  Accordingly,  we  find 
that  in  1599,  no  doubt  through  his  influence,  a  coat-of- 
arms  was  granted  to  his  father.  He  grew  tired  of  the 
actor's  profession,  chafing  under  its  low  social  standing 
and  its  enslaving  exactions  upon  his  time  and  person.  In 
one  of  his  sonnets  he  writes  :  — 

"  Alas  !  His  true  I  have  gone  here  and  there, 
And  made  myself  a  motley  to  the  view ; 
Gord  mine  own  thoughts,  sold  cheap  what  is  most  dear, 
Made  old  offences  of  affections  new  ; 
Most  times  it  is  that  I  have  looked  on  truth 
Askance  and  strangely." 

It  is  probable  that  Shakespeare  ceased  to  be  an  actor  in 
1604,  though  he  continued  to  write  for  the  stage,  and  pro- 


i7DICr;iVi.!/M  CENIO  SoCRATEMARTE  M«10NEM 
'ItRR/-  tf.CIT  POP/L VS  II^^RET  OLYNC/S  HABET 

Scr  fitSSt>iCtK  »HYCX)tST    HO/ Bi"  SO  FAST/ 
K&D  r  WW  C^.NST  *>KJH  ENVKV-S  £»H  WT)  aAST 
WlTi  ISi  !*>  MfAVTEsr  .SHAK;S€/J(E:  1«T<  JTHOME 
(;«X  NAlVkt  [«*:■«««,«  N«€.D0T1  BKK.  t  "RXlBE 
F>Rt«jW/«;NCO$T.-5lEH«i.¥  He  hath  X'RITT 
l.EA/f.SLWlNOAKT.B-'TBCE  TOSEKvCHISvClTT 


MeERE  LYETH  INTKaRW  T«  BOIft'  Of  As<NE  Wffi 

ofWiaiA*  SHiKE»f.A«t  Nnw  ORn-ED  THIS  LIFE  tk: 

C/BaY  OfAvcVlCif  JElNCOFTrEACE  OF  6?  YEARES 

Vberafu  mater. iuW.vfeTiKjdedt^i 
V*  mihrpro  tanto  muncre  saxd  dabo 

Qium  mailem  Ainoueat  la|>iAnn. bonus  /uiy'ore 
Exeat'.'chnsti  corpus, uvii^o  tuA  *5X:>o 

Sed  iiil  vofA  visfenf-  veniis  ciloChn3o,-iiFfurgrt| 
CUufA  licet  {-umulo  mater  etA^SiA  peiel. 


Good  frend  for  ksvs  xake  forbeare, 

TO  Dice  THE  DVST  ENCLOASED  FEARL^. 
BlESTE  be  f  MAN  i  SPAREI  T\IS  STONES, 
AND  CVRST  BE  HE  ^  MOVES  MY  BONES* 


The  gravestones  of  Shakespeare  and  his  wife  Anne  rest  side  bv  side 
upon  the  second  step  of  the  altar  in  the  chancel  of  Holy  Trinity  Church. 
A  flat  stone  with  the  large  inscription  deeply  engraved  upon  it  covers 
Shakespeare's  remains.  Of  the  two  small  inscriptions,  the  one  at  the 
right  is  upon  a  brass  plate  set  into  the  stone  which  rests  upon  the  grave 
of  Shakespeare's  wife  Anne.     The  one  upon  the  left  — 

Judicio  I'ulium  cenio  Socratem  arte  Moronem 
Terra  tecit  popiilus  niaeret  <  )luriii)us  hahet. 

Stay  Passenger  ;    w  hy  goest  thou  l)y  so  fast, 

Read,  if  thou  canst,  whom  envious  death  has  plast 

Within  this  monument,  Shakspeare,  withom 

Quick  Nature  dide  ;   whose  name  doth  deck  vs.  tomhe 

Far  more  than  cost ;   sith  all  yt.  he  hath  writl 

Leaves  living  art  but  page  to  serve  his  witt. 

Obiit  Ano.  Doi  1616. 
Etatis  53.     Die  23.  .\p. 

is  upon  a  marble  tablet  directly  below  the  Monumental  Bust  of  Shake- 
speare. 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE.  I4I 

duced  all  his  greatest  masterpieces  after  that  date.  About 
161 1  he  retired  to  his  native  town  to  live  in  quiet  domestic 
enjoyment.  How  great  the  contrast  with  the  excitements, 
labors,  and  vanities  of  his  career  in  London  !  The  last 
five  years  of  his  life  were  spent  in  domestic  comforts,  local 
interests,  the  entertainment  of  friends,  the  composition  of 
one  or  two  great  dramas,  with  an  occasional  visit  to  the 
scene  of  his  former  struggles  and  triumphs.  He  died 
April  23,  1616,  on  the  anniversary  of  his  birth,  and  was 
buried  in  the  parish  church  of  Stratford.  If  we  may 
credit  tradition,  he  rose  from  a  sick  bed  to  entertain 
Jonson  and  Drayton,  and  the  convivial  excesses  of  the 
occasion  brought  on  a  fatal  relapse.  His  tomb  bears  the 
following  inscription  :  — 

"  Good  friend,  for  Jesus'  sake  forbear, 
To  dig  the  dust  enclosed  here : 
Blest  be  the  man  that  spares  these  stones, 
And  curst  be  he  that  moves  my  bones." 

Summing  up  his  character,  as  gleaned  from  hints  scat- 
tered through  the  scanty  biographic  materials,  Hudson 
justly  says  :  "  There  is  enough,  I  think,  to  show  that  in 
all  the  common  dealings  of  life  he  was  eminently  gentle, 
candid,  upright,  and  judicious;  open-hearted,  genial,  and 
sweet  in  his  social  intercourses;  among  his  companions 
and  friends  full  of  playful  wit  and  sprightly  grace ;  kind 
to  the  faults  of  others,  severe  to  his  own ;  quick  to  discern 
and  acknowledge  merit  in  another,  modest  and  slow  of 
finding  it  in  himself ;  while,  in  the  smooth  and  happy 
marriage,  which  he  seems  to  have  realized,  of  the  highest 
poetry  and  art  with  successful  and  systematic  prudence  in 


142  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

business  affairs,  we  have  an  example  of  compact  and  well- 
rounded  practical  manhood,  such  as  may  justly  engage 
our  admiration  and  respect." 

Were  the  meagre  facts  in  the  outward  life  of  this  great 
man  all  that  we  know  of  him,  how  incomplete  and  unsatis- 
factory our  knowledge  !  But  there  is  another  life  besides 
the  outward  and  visible  one  —  a  life  of  the  soul.  It  is  by 
the  aims,  thoughts,  and  feelings  of  this  interior  life  that  the 
character  and  greatness  of  a  man  are  to  be  judged.  Out- 
ward circumstances  are,  in  a  large  measure,  fortuitous  ;  at 
most  they  but  aid  or  hinder  the  operations  of  the  spirit 
within  —  plume  or  clip  its  wings.  It  is  when  we  turn  to 
this  interior  life  of  Shakespeare,  and  measure  its  creations 
and  experiences,  that  we  learn  his  unapproachable  great- 
ness. Many  other  authors  have  surpassed  him  in  the 
variety  and  splendor  of  outward  circumstances ;  many 
warriors  and  statesmen  and  princes  have  been  occupied 
with  larger  national  interests ;  but  where  is  the  man  that 
can  compare  with  him  in  the  richness  and  extent  of  this 
life  of  the  soul .-' 

There  is  no  class  of  society,  from  kings  to  beggars,  from 
queens  to  hags,  with  which  he  has  not  entered  into  the 
closest  sympathy,  thinking  their  thoughts  and  speaking 
their  words.  By  his  overpowering  intuition,  he  compre- 
hended, in  all  their  extent,  the  various  hopes,  fears, 
desires,  and  passions  of  the  human  heart ;  and,  as  occasion 
arose,  he  gave  them  the  most  perfect  utterance  they  have 
ever  found.  Every  age  and  country  —  early  England, 
mediaeval  Italy,  ancient  Greece  and  Rome — were  all 
seized  in  their  essential  features. 

There  were  no  thoughts  too  high  for  his  strong  intellect 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE.  1 43 

to  grasp  ;  and  the  great  world  of  nature,  with  its  mysteries, 
its  abounding  beauty,  its  subtle  harmonies,  its  deep  moral 
teachings,  he  irradiated  with  the  light  of  his  genius.  If,  as 
a  poet  has  said,  "we  live  in  thoughts,  not  years,  in  feelings, 
not  in  figures  on  the  dial,"  how  infinitely  rich  the  quarter 
of  a  century  Shakespeare  spent  in  London !  In  com- 
parison with  his  all-embracing  experience,  the  career  of  an 
Alexander,  or  Caesar,  or  Napoleon,  with  its  far  extending 
ambition  and  manifold  interests,  loses  its  towering  great- 
ness ;  for  the  English  poet  lived  more  than  they  all. 

One  great  ground  of  Shakespeare's  preeminence  is  his 
sanity.  He  was  singularly  free  from  the  eccentricity  and 
one-sidedness  that  so  often  accompany  genius.  His  mar- 
vellous power  in  seeing  clearly  and  judging  justly  will  be 
more  clearly  understood  by  comparing  him  with  recent 
schools  or  tendencies  in  literature.  For  nearly  a  century 
the  literary  world  has  been  divided  into  romanticists  and 
realists.  The  former  emphasize  the  ideal  side  of  life,  and 
in  extreme  types  run  into  extravagance ;  the  latter  empha- 
size what  is  actual  in  life,  often  showing  preference  for  the 
low  and  immoral.  Both  tendencies  represent  truth  in  part; 
but  in  Shakespeare  we  find  them  held  in  equal  balance. 
The  ideal  and  the  real  are  harmoniously  blended  in  him  as 
in  actual  life.     He  saw  and  judged  life  in  its  completeness. 

It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  Shakespeare  owed  every- 
thing to  nature,  and  that  in  his  productions  he  was  guided 
alone  by  instinct.  This  view  was  maintained  by  his  earli- 
est biographer,  Rowe,  who  says :  "  Art  had  so  little,  and 
nature  so  large  a  share  in  what  Shakespeare  did,  that  for 
aught  I  know  the  performances  of  his  youth  were  the 
best." 


144  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

But  Ben  Jonson  shows  a  keener  discernment:  — 

"  Yet  must  I  not  give  Nature  all :  thy  Art, 
My  gentle  Shakespeare,  must  enjoy  a  part. 
For  a  good  Poet's  made,  as  well  as  born, 
And  such  wert  thou." 

An  examination  of  his  works  in  their  chronological  order 
shows  that  his  genius  underwent  a  process  of  development, 
and  was  perfected  by  study,  knowledge,  and  experience. 
His  earliest  dramas,  such  as  "  Henry  VI., "  "  Love's 
Labor's  Lost,"  "Comedy  of  Errors,"  and  "The  Two  Gen- 
tlemen of  Verona,"  all  of  which  were  composed  prior  to 
1 591,  are  lacking  in  the  freedom  and  perfection  of  his 
later  works.  They  show  the  influence  of  the  contemporary 
stage,  and  declamation  often  takes  the  place  of  genuine 
passion. 

But  after  this  apprentice  work,  the  poet  passed  into  the 
full  possession  of  his  powers,  and  produced,  during  what 
may  be  regarded  the  middle  period  of  his  literary  career, 
an  uninterrupted  succession  of  masterpieces,  among  which 
may  be  mentioned  "The  Merchant  of  Venice,"  "A  Mid- 
summer Night's  Dream,"  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  "  As  You 
Like  It,"  "  Hamlet,"  and  most  of  his  Enghsh  historical 
plays.  All  these  appeared  before  1600.  With  increasing 
age  and  experience,  the  poet  passed  on  to  profounder 
themes.  It  was  during  this  final  stage  of  his  development 
that  he  gave  "  King  Lear,"  "  Macbeth,"  and  "  Othello"  to 
the  world,  the  two  former  in  1605  and  the  latter  in  1609. 

But  in  one  particular  his  earlier  and  his  later  dramas  are 
alike.  The  personality  of  the  poet  is  concealed  in  them 
all.  He  enters  into  sympathy  with  all  his  creations,  but  he 
can  be  identified  with  none.     He  is  greater  than  any  one 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE.  1 45 

of  them,  or  than  all  of  them  combined ;  for  it  is  in  him 
that  they  all  originated  and  find  their  unity.  Thus  to 
create  and  project  into  the  world  a  large  number  of  inde- 
pendent beings  is  an  evidence  of  the  highest  genius. 
Byron  could  not  do  it ;  for  through  all  his  works,  whatever 
may  be  the  names  of  his  characters,  we  recognize  the  law- 
less, passionate,  misanthropic  poet  himself.  The  same  is 
true  of  Goethe  and  Victor  Hugo,  who  embody  in  their 
works  their  didactic  principles  or  their  idealized  experi- 
ence. Among  the  world's  great  writers,  Shakespeare  and 
Homer  almost  alone  are  hidden  behind  their  works  like  a 
mysterious  presence. 

Shakespeare  possessed  a  profound  knowledge  of  his  art. 
This  is  obvious  both  from  Hamlet's  famous  instruction  to 
the  players  and  from  the  structure  of  his  dramas.  He 
has  been  criticised  for  discarding  classic  rules  ;  but  the 
censure  is  most  unjust.  Genius  has  an  inalienable  right  to 
prescribe  its  own  creative  forms.  He  laid  aside  the  ham- 
pering models  of  antiquity  in  order  to  give  the  world  a  new 
and  richer  dramatic  form.  The  simple  action  of  the  ancient 
drama  could  not  be  adjusted  to  his  great  and  complex 
themes.  His  works  possess  the  one  great  essential  char- 
acteristic —  that  of  organic  unity.  After  Shakespeare  had 
completed  his  apprenticeship,  his  dramas  embody  an  almost 
faultless  structure ;  they  are  not  pieces  of  elaborate  and 
elegant  patchwork,  but  of  consistent  and  regular  growth. 
We  can  but  wonder  at  the  range  and  power  of  that  intel- 
lect which  grasped  a  multitude  of  characters,  brought  them 
into  contact,  carried  them  through  a  great  variety  of  inci- 
dents, portrayed  with  justice  and  splendor  the  profoundest 
feelings  and  thoughts,  traced  their  reciprocal  influence,  and 


146  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

symmetrically  conducted  the  whole  to  a  striking  and  pre- 
determined conclusion. 

It  scarcely  detracts  from  his  greatness  that,  instead  of 
inventing  his  themes  and  characters,  he  borrowed  them 
from  history  and  literature.  His  borrowing  was  not  slav- 
ish and  weak.  Whatever  materials  he  appropriated  from 
others,  he  reshaped  and  glorified ;  and  he  is  no  more  to  be 
censured  than  is  the  sculptor  who  takes  from  the  stone- 
cutter the  rough  marble  that  he  afterward  transforms 
into  a  Venus  de'  Medici  or  a  Greek  Slave.  His  works  con- 
stitute a  world  in  themselves ;  and  with  its  inhabitants  — 
with  Hamlet,  Qthello,  Macbeth,  Portia,  Shylock,  and  many 
others  —  we  are  as  well  acquainted  as  with  the  personages 
of  history. 

When  Chatham  was  once  asked  where  he  had  learned 
his  English  history,  he  replied,  "  In  the  plays  of  Shake- 
speare." Nowhere  else  could  he  have  better  caught  its 
spirit.  In  the  historical  plays  of  the  great  dramatist,  the 
mediaeval  history  of  England  is  made  to  live  again ;  not 
only  its  leading  events  are  brought  before  us,  but  also  its 
leading  actors,  animated  by  their  moving  passions.  "  If 
the  poet's  work,"  says  Green,  "echoes  sometimes  our 
national  prejudice  and  unfairness  of  temper,  it  is  instinct 
throughout  with  our  English  humor,  with  our  English  love 
of  hard  fighting,  our  English  faith  in  goodness,  and  in  the 
doom  that  waits  upon  triumphant  evil,  our  English  pity 
for  the  fallen." 

The  poet  exhibits  an  almost  perfect  acquaintance  with 
human  nature.  His  creations  are  not  personified  moral 
qualities  or  individualized  passions,  but  real  persons. 
They  are  beings  of  flesh  and  blood ;  but  by  their  relations 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE.  1 47 

and  reciprocal  influence  they  are  lifted  above  the  dull  and 
commonplace.  Shakespeare  removes  the  veil  that  hides 
from  common  vision  the  awful  significance  of  human  in- 
fluence, and  reveals  it  in  its  subtle  workings  and  mighty- 
results.  He  enables  us  to  see,  beneath  a  placid  or  rippling 
surface,  the  deep  currents  that  move  society. 

His  types  of  noble  men  and  women  —  Orlando,  Hora- 
tio, Antonio,  Portia,  Hermione,  Desdemona,  and  many 
others  —  are  almost  matchless.  He  furnishes  us  a  gallery 
of  exalted  manhood  and  womanhood.  Their  goodness  is 
beautiful  in  its  ease,  simplicity,  and  naturalness.  "  The 
good  they  do,  in  doing  it,  pays  itself ;  if  they  do  you  a 
kindness,  they  are  not  at  all  solicitous  to  have  you  know 
and  remember  it ;  if  sufferings  and  hardships  overtake 
them,  if  wounds  and  bruises  be  their  portion,  they  never 
grumble  or  repine  at  it."  And  the  women,  to  quote 
Hudson  further,  "  are  strong,  tender,  and  sweet,  yet  never 
without  a  sufficient  infusion  of  brisk  natural  acid  and 
piquancy  to  keep  their  sweetness  from  palHng  on  the 
taste ;  they  are  full  of  fresh,  healthy  sentiment,  but  never 
at  all  touched  with  sentimentality." 

As  his  mode  of  expression  was  always  suited  to  his 
changing  characters,  he  exemplified  every  quality  of  style 
in  turn.  His  faculties  and  taste  were  so  exquisitely 
adju.sted,  that  his  manner  was  always  in  keeping  with  his 
matter.  He  drew  with  equal  facility  on  the  Saxon  and 
the  Latin  elements  of  our  language,  and  attained  with 
both  the  same  incomparable  results.  He  had  a  prodigious 
faculty  for  language,  surpassing  in  copiousness  every  other 
English  writer.  The  only  term  that  adequately  describes 
his  manner  of  writing  is  Shakespearian  —  a  term  that  com- 


148 


ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


prehends  a  great  deal.  It  includes  vividness  of  imagina- 
tion, depth  of  thought,  delicacy  of  feeling,  carefulness  of 
observation,  discernment  of  hidden  relations,  and  what- 
ever else  may  be  necessary  to  clothe  thought  in  expres- 
sions of  supreme  fitness  and  beauty. 

Far  above  every  other  writer  of  ancient  or  modern  times 
Shakespeare  voices,  in  its  manifold  life,  the  human  soul. 
This  fact  makes  his  works  a  storehouse  of  riches,  to  which 
we  constantly  turn.  Are  we  oppressed  at  times  with  a 
morbid  feeling  of  the  emptiness  of  life  t  How  perfectly 
Shakespeare  voices  our  sentiment :  — 

''  Life's  but  a  walking  shadow,  a  poor  player 
That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage, 
And  then  is  heard  no  more :  it  is  a  tale 
Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury, 
Signifying  nothing.'' 

Or  again  :  — 

"We  are  such  stuflf 

As  dreams  are  made  of,  and  our  little  life 

Is  rounded  with  a  sleep." 

If  we  recognize  the  fact  that  somehow  there  is  a  myste- 
rious power  controlling  our  lives,  we  are  told  — 

"  There's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough-hew  them  how  we  will." 

But,  as  our  consciousness  tells  us,  we  are  not  wholly  at 
the  mercy  of  this  overruling  agency :  — 

"  Our  remedies  oft  in  ourselves  do  lie, 
Which  we  ascribe  to  heaven  ;  the  fated  sky 
Gives  us  free  scope,  only  doth  backward  push 
Our  slow  designs  when  we  ourselves  are  dull." 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE.  1 49 

What  beautiful  expression  he  gives  to  the  trite  observa- 
tion that  contentment  is  better  than  riches  ! 

"  'Tis  better  to  be  lowly  born. 
And  range  with  humble  livers  in  content, 
Than  to  be  perk'd  up  in  glistering  grief, 
And  wear  a  golden  sorrow." 

What  clear  expression  he  gives  to  the  indistinct  feeling 
of  beauty  that  sometimes  comes  to  us  in  the  presence  of 
some  object  in  nature !  He  surprises  its  secret,  and 
embodies  it  in  an  imperishable  word:  — 

"  How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank  !  " 

But  why  multiply  illustrations,  when  they  are  found  on 
almost  every  page  of  his  works  ? 

And  what  shall  be  said  of  Shakespeare's  influence  ?  He 
so  entirely  ecHpsed  his  contemporary  dramatists  that  their 
works  are  scarcely  read.  There  are  passages  in  his  works 
that  we  could  wish  omitted  —  panderings  to  the  corrupt 
taste  of  the  time.  But  they  are  exceptional,  and  at  heart 
the  poet's  sympathy,  as  in  the  case  of  every  truly  great 
man,  is  on  the  side  of  virtue.  His  writings,  as  a  whole, 
carry  with  them  the  uplifting  power  of  high  thought,  noble 
feeling,  and  worthy  deeds. 

Many  of  his  thoughts  and  characters  pass  into  the  intel- 
lectual life  of  each  succeeding  generation.  "  Hamlet," 
"The  Merchant  of  Venice,"  and  "  Romeo  and  Juliet  "  are 
read  by  nearly  every  young  student;  and  to  have  read 
any  one  of  Shakespeare's  masterpieces  intelligently  marks 
an  epoch  in  the  intellectual  life  of  youth.  But  his  dramas 
give  pleasure  not  alone  to  the  young.  With  minds  en- 
riched by  experience  and  study,  we  turn,  in  the  midst  of 


150  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

active  life,  to  his  works  for  recreation  and  instruction.  He 
but  appears  greater  with  our  enlarged  capacity  to  appre- 
ciate him.  If  he  gathered  about  him  a  circle  of  cultivated 
friends  and  admirers  in  his  hfe,  he  has  shown  himself  still 
stronger  in  death.  The  circle  has  widened  until  it  com- 
prehends many  lands. 

He  has  exerted  a  noteworthy  influence  upon  foreign 
literature,  especially  in  Germany  and  France.  Translated 
into  the  languages  of  these  countries,  his  works  have  been 
extensively  studied,  admired,  and  imitated.  He  is  lectured 
on  in  German  universities,  and  some  of  his  ablest  critics 
have  been  German  and  French.  He  has  stimulated  a 
prodigious  amount  of  intellectual  activity ;  and  his  biog- 
raphers, editors,  translators,  critics,  and  commentators  are 
numbered  by  the  hundred.  No  other  English  author  has 
gathered  about  him  such  an  array  of  scholarship  and  liter- 
ary ability. 

There  is  no  abatement  of  interest  in  his  works.  Socie- 
ties are  organized  for  their  systematic  study,  and  periodicals 
are  devoted  to  their  illustration.  There  is  no  likelihood 
that  he  will  ever  be  superseded;  as  he  wrote  in  the  proud 
presentiment  of  genius,  — 

"  Not  marble,  nor  the  gilded  monuments 
Of  princes,  shall  outlive  this  powerful  rhyme." 

Future  ages  will  turn  to  his  works  as  a  mirror  of  nature, 
and  find  in  them  the  most  perfect  expression  of  their  deep- 
est and  most  precious  experience.  It  is  safe  to  say  that 
his  productions  are  as  imperishable  as  the  English  lan- 
guage or  the  English  race. 


I 


ADDENDUM   ON    THE  DRAMA.  151 


ADDENDUM   ON   THE   DRAMA. 

The  essential  thing  in  the  drama  is  action.  It  is  thus  distinguished 
from  the  epic,  which  narrates  heroic  deeds,  and  from  the  lyric  which 
expresses  intense  emotion.  The  drama  presents  a  series  of  grave  or 
humorous  incidents  that  terminate  in  a  striking  result.  Its  ultimate 
basis  is  found  in  our  natural  love  of  imitation  ;  and  hence  it  is  not 
restricted  to  any  race  or  age  or  country.  India  and  China,  Greece  and 
Rome,  no  less  than  modern  nations,  delighted  in  dramatic  exhibitions, 
and  produced  a  notable  dramatic  literature.  Obviously  the  drama  is 
not  inherently  evil ;  and  if  it  has  often  been  condemned  by  pagan  sage 
and  Christian  teacher,  the  condemnation  has  been  evoked  by  the 
degeneracy  and  dissoluteness  of  the  stage. 

The  principal  species  of  the  drama  are  tragedy  and  comedy.  Trag- 
edy represents  an  important  and  serious  action,  which  usually  has  a 
fatal  termination  ;  it  ajDpeals  to  the  earnest  side  of  our  nature,  and  moves 
our  deepest  feelings.  Comedy  consists  in  a  representation  of  light  and 
amusing  incidents ;  it  exhibits  the  foibles  of  individuals,  the  manners 
of  society,  and  the  humorous  accidents  of  life.  The  laws  of  the  drama 
are  substantially  the  same  for  both  tragedy  and  comedy.  There  must 
be  unity  in  the  dramatic  action.  This  requires  that  the  separate  inci- 
dents contribute  in  some  way  to  the  development  of  the  plot  and  to  the 
final  result  or  dcnojtenient .  A  collection  of  disconnected  scenes,  no 
matter  how  interesting  in  themselves,  would  not  make  a  drama. 

In  addition  to  unity  of  action,  which  is  obviously  the  indispensable 
law  of  the  drama,  two  other  unities  have  been  prescribed  from  a  very 
early  day.  The  one  is  unity  of  time,  which  requires  that  the  action  fall 
within  the  limits  of  a  single  day;  the  other  is  unity  of  place,  which  re- 
quires that  the  action  occur  in  the  same  locality.  While  evidently  arti- 
ficial and  dispensable,  these  latter  unities  conduce  to  clear  and  concise 
treatment.  Among  the  Greeks  and  Romans  the  three  unities,  as  they 
are  called,  were  strictly  observed ;  they  have  been  followed  also  by  the 
French  drama ;  but  the  English  stage,  breaking  away  in  the  days  of 
Elizabeth  from  every  artificial  restriction,  recognizes  unity  of  action 
alone. 


152 


ENGLISH  LITERATURE, 


The  action  of  the  drama  should  exhibit  movement  or  progress,  in 
which  several  stages  may  be  clearly  marked.  The  iiitroduciioii  ac- 
quaints us,  more  or  less  fully,  with  the  subject  to  be  treated.  It  usually 
brings  before  us  some  of  the  leading  characters,  and  shows  us  the  cir- 
cumstances in  which  they  are  placed.  After  the  introduction  follows 
i\iQ  growih  or  developfnent  of  the  action  toward  the  climax.  From  the 
days  of  Aristotle,  this  part  of  the  drama  has  been  called  "  the  tying  of 
the  knot,"  and  it  needs  to  be  managed  with  great  care.  If  the  develop- 
ment is  too  slow,  the  interest  lags  ;  if  too  rapid,  the  climax  appears  tame. 

The  interest  of  a  drama  depends  in  large  measure  upon  the  success- 
ful arrangement  of  the  climax^  or  the  point  in  which  the  opposing  forces 
immediately  confront  each  other.  In  our  best  dramas  it  usually  occurs 
near  the  middle  of  the  piece.  From  this  point  the  action  proceeds  to 
the  close  or  dcnoiiei/icnt.  The  knot  is  untied ;  the  complications  in 
which  the  leading  characters  have  become  involved  are  either  happily 
removed,  or  lead  to  an  inevitable  catastrophe.  Avoiding  every  digres- 
sion, the  action  should  go  forward  rapidly,  in  order  not  to  weary  the 
patience  and  dissipate  the  interest  of  the  spectator.  The  denouejiient 
should  not  be  dependent  upon  some  foreign  element  introduced  at  the 
last  moment,  but  should  spring  naturally  from  the  antecedent  action. 

In  addition  to  the  five  principal  parts  just  indicated  —  introduction, 
rise  or  tying  of  the  knot,  climax,  fall  or  untying  of  the  knot,  and  de- 
nouement—  there  are  three  other  elements  or  factors  that  need  to  be 
distinguished.  The  first  is  the  cause  or  exciting  impulse  of  the  dra- 
matic action,  and  naturally  stands  between  the  introduction  and  the  rise 
or  tying  of  the  knot.  The  second  is  the  cause  or  tragic  impulse  of  the 
counteraction,  and  stands  between  the  climax  and  the  fall  or  untying 
of  the  knot.  The  third  is  the  cause  or  impulse  that  holds  the  action  in 
check  for  a  moment  before  reaching  its  final  issue,  and  stands  between 
the  fall  and  the  denoitenieiit.  The  structure  and  eight  component  parts 
of  a  complete  drama  may  be  represented  in  a  diagram  as  follows  :  — 


A  =  Introduction. 

B  =  Rise  or  tying  of  knot. 

C  —  Climax. 

D  =  Fall  or  untying  of  knot. 

£  =  Denouement. 

a  =  Cause  or  exciting  impulse. 

6   =  Tragic  impulse. 

c   =  Impulse  of  last  suspense. 


i 


CIVIL   WAR   OR   PURITAN   PERIOD. 


PRINCIPAL  WRITERS. 

I^Prose. — Jeremy  Taylor  (1613-1667).  Theologian  and  preacher. 
Author  of  "  Liberty  of  Prophesying  "  (1647),  "  Holy  Living  and  Dying  " 
(1651),  etc. 

Edward  Hyde,  Earl  of  Clarendon  (i 608-1 674).  Statesman  and 
author  of  "The  History  of  the  Rebellion"'  (1702). 

Richard  Baxter  (1615-1691).  Theologian  and  preacher.  Author 
of  "The  Saints'  Everlasting  Rest"  (1649),  "A  Call  to  the  Uncon- 
verted" (1657),  "The  Reformed  Pastor,"  and  a  hundred  and  fifty 
other  works. 

^-Izaak  Walton  (1593-1683).  Author  of  "The  Complete  Angler," 
and  several  excellent  biographies,  including  that  of  Hooker. 

l„Siir  Thomas  Browne  (1605-1682).  Author  of  "  Religio  Medici" 
(1643),  "Vulgar  Errors  "(1646),  and  "Urn  Burial"  (1658). 

Poetry.,-— Edmund  Waller  (1605-1687).  One  of  the  principal 
metaphysical  or  artificial  poets. 

Abraham  Cowley  (1618-1667).  The  most  popular  poet  of  his  time. 
Author  of  "  The  Mistress,"  a  collection  of  love  verses,  "  Davideis,"  an 
epic  on  David,  "  The  Late  Civil  War,"  etc. 

Francis  Quarles  (1592-1644).  Author  of  "Divine  Emblems"  (1635), 
moral  and  religious  poems,  very  popular  in  his  day.  "  Milton  was  forced 
to  wait,"  said  Walpole,  "  till  the  world  had  done  admiring  Quarles." 

George  Plerbert  (1593-1632).  Anglican  clergyman,  who  wrote 
"The  Temple"  (1633),  a  collection  of  ecclesiastical  poems,  some  of 
which  are  still  held  in  favor. 

■-Robert    Henick    (1591-1674).      Anglican    clergyman,    who    wrote 
Anacreontic  poems  hardly  in  keeping  with  his  profession. 

GREAT   REPRESENTATIVE   WRITERS. 

John  Milton.  John  Bunyan. 

153  ~ — ■ 


IV. 
CIVIL   WAR   OR   PURITAN    PERIOD. 

(1625-1660.) 

Puritan  ascendency — Civil  and  religious  conflicts — Policy  of  Charles  I. 

—  Petition  of  Right  —  Bad  advisers  of  king  —  House  of  Commons — 
Independents — Voluntary  exiles  —  Civil  War — -The  commonwealth 

—  Puritanism  unfavorable  to  literature  —  Decay  of  drama  —  Jeremy 
Taylor  —  Earl  of  Clarendon  —  Baxter  —  Izaak  Walton  —  "Meta- 
physical Poets"  —  Johnson's  criticism  —  Edmund  Waller  —  Abra- 
ham Cowley  —  John  Milton  —  John  Bunyan. 

Though  short,  this  period  is  worthy  of  careful  study. 
In  a  brief  space  of  time,  the  dominant  spirit  of  England 
was  completely  changed.  The  Puritan  element  gained  the 
ascendency  and  stamped  its  character  on  the  representa- 
tive literature  of  the  time.  The  religious  element  of  life 
came  into  greater  prominence ;  thought  was  turned  from 
this  world  to  the  world  to  come,  and  in  place  of  the  com- 
mon interests  of  humanity  literature  was  largely  occupied 
with  religious  truth.  This  difference,  as  compared  with 
the  preceding  era,  is  clearly  reflected  in  the  great  repre- 
sentative writers.  Spenser,  Bacon,  and  Shakespeare  reflect 
large  and  secular  phases  of  the  spacious  times  of  Elizabeth ; 
Milton  and  Bunyan,  in  their  greatest  works,  set  forth  the 
theological  beliefs  and  religious  experience  of  Christendom. 

This  period  is  characterized  by  a  great  civil  and  religious 
conflict.  The  antagonistic  elements  that  had  long  existed 
in  England  were  brought  into  armed  conflict  for  suprem- 

'55 


156  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

acy.  It  was  a  time  of  unrest,  controversy,  persecution, 
and  civil  war  —  a  condition  of  things  highly  unfavorable 
to  literature.  But  for  two  great  writers,  who  with  vast 
genius  voiced  the  deeper  truths  and  aspirations  of  Puritan 
England,  it  would  be  regarded  as  a  period  of  literary 
decadence,  not  unlike  that  following  the  age  of  Chaucer. 
As  it  is,  the  largeness,  variety,  and  freedom  of  the  First 
Creative  Period  are  obviously  lacking. 

Charles  I.  ascended  the  throne  in  1625  and  moulded 
his  policy  according  to  high  notions  of  the  divine  right  of 
kings.  He  sought  to  establish  an  absolute  monarchy. 
He  assumed  a  haughty  tone  in  addressing  the  Commons, 
telling  them  to  "remember  that  parliaments  were  alto- 
gether in  his  power  for  their  calling,  sitting,  or  dissolution, 
and  that,  therefore,  as  he  should  find  the  fruits  of  them 
good  or  evil,  they  were  to  be,  or  not  to  be." 

Two  Parliaments  were  convened  in  rapid  succession, 
but  showed  themselves  unyielding  to  the  royal  will.  When 
the  king  demanded  supplies,  the  Commons  clamored  for 
redress  of  grievances.  In  each  case  the  king  dissolved 
Parliament  and  proceeded  to  levy  taxes  in  defiance  of 
law.  Resistance  to  the  royal  demands  led  to  immediate 
imprisonment ;  and  in  order  to  exercise  his  tyranny  the 
better,  he  billeted  soldiers  among  the  people,  and  in  some 
places  established  martial  law. 

A  third  Parliament  was  called  in  1628.  Finding  it  still 
more  determined  in  resisting  his  arbitrary  and  tyrannical 
rule,  the  king  resolved  upon  a  change  of  tactics.  After 
many  attempted  evasions,  he  was  at  Jast  brought  to 
ratify  the  Petition  of  Right,  the  second  great  charter  of 
English    liberty,    which   bound    him    not    to    levy   taxes 


CIVIL    WAR    OR  PURITAN  PERIOD.  1 57 

without  the  consent  of  ParHament,  not  to  imprison  any 
person  except  by  due  legal  process,  and  not  to  govern  by 
martial  law. 

The  rejoicing  of  the  Commons  over  this  victory  was  of 
short  duration.  The  king  was  by  nature  insincere  and 
false,  and,  on  principle,  did  not  feel  himself  bound  to  keep 
faith  with  the  people.  After  collecting  the  supplies  that 
had  been  granted  him,  he  violated  the  solemn  pledge  of 
the  Petition  of  Right,  and  dissolved  Parliament  with  every 
mark  of  royal  displeasure.  For  the  following  eleven  years 
no  Parliament  was  called  together,  and  the  king  ruled  as 
a  despot. 

Throughout  the  whole  course  of  his  usurpation  the  king 
was  surrounded  by  bad  advisers.  Among  them  was  the 
Duke  of  Buckingham,  whom  the  Commons  considered 
"the  grievance  of  grievances";  Laud,  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury,  who  hated  the  Puritans  more  than  he  hated 
the  Catholics  ;  and  Thomas  Wentworth,  Earl  Strafford, 
who  had  been  won  from  the  side  of  Parliament  by  bribes 
and  honors,  and  to  whom  Mr.  Pym  suggestively  remarked, 
"  You  have  left  us,  but  we  will  never  leave  you  while  your 
head  is  upon  your  shoulders."  In  natural  sympathy  with 
the  king  were  the  nobility  of  the  realm  and  the  prelates  of 
the  Established  Church.  With  the  supremacy  of  the 
crown,  the  position  of  the  nobility  would  be  guaranteed 
against  republican  tendencies.  Since  Charles  I.  was  a 
zealous  Episcopahan,  the  bishops  had  everything  to  gain 
from  his  absolutism.  They  warmly  defended  the  divine 
right  of  kings.  Here,  then,  we  find  two  influential  classes 
which  were  bound  to  the  king  by  common  sympathies  and 
common  interests.     They  were  called  Royalists. 


158  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

The  opposition,  as  we  have  seen,  centred  in  the  House 
of  Commons,  who  represented  the  great  middle  class  of 
England.  They  stood  for  constitutional  government. 
For  the  most  part  they  were  Independents  in  religion  and 
looked  upon  the  usages  and  episcopal  organization  of  the 
Anglican  Church  as  savoring  of  Romanism.  They  made 
the  individual  congregation  the  source  of  authority,  and, 
rejecting  all  human  traditions,  appealed  to  the  Scriptures 
alone  as  the  standard  of  faith  and  practice.  Their  form  of 
worship  was  simple. 

In  emancipating  men  from  the  arbitrary  rule  of  an  ex- 
ternal authority  in  religion,  their  principles  were  favorable 
to  human  dignity  and  freedom.  Though  persecuted  to  a 
greater  or  less  degree  during  the  reigns  of  Elizabeth  and 
James  I.,  the  Independents  had  increased.  Their  trials 
had  made  them  an  earnest  and  determined  body.  In  con- 
trast with  what  they  regarded  the  formalism  and  worldli- 
ness  of  the  Estabhshed  Church,  many  of  them  had  gone 
to  the  opposite  extreme  of  ascetic  rigor.  They  denounced 
every  kind  of  amusement,  excluded  music  and  art  from  the 
churches,  acquired  a  stern  solemnity  of  countenance,  and 
affected  a  Scriptural  style  of  speech. 

To  escape  the  annoyances  and  persecutions  to  which 
they  were  exposed  in  England,  thousands  had  voluntarily 
exiled  themselves  in  Holland,  or  braved  the  trials  and  dan- 
gers of  the  New  World.  It  will  be  readily  understood  that 
men  of  this  character  —  men  of  deep  conviction,  of  high 
conceptions  of  individual  liberty,  and  of  fearless  courage 
—  could  not  be  friendly  to  royal  despotism.  When  placed 
in  power  in  the  House  of  Commons,  they  were  stubborn 
and  unyielding  in  their  defence  of  constitutional  liberty. 


CIVIL    WAR    OR  PURITAN  PERIOD.  1 59 

They  could  not  be  deceived  by  promises  nor  terrified  by 
threats.  Thus  constitutional  government  in  the  Commons 
was  arrayed  against  despotism  in  the  king. 

At  last  the  resources  of  peace  were  exhausted,  and  in 
1642  an  appeal  was  made  to  arms.  It  is  not  necessary  to 
follow  the  course  of  the  Civil  War.  The  gay  Cavaliers 
about  the  king  were  no  match  for  the  serious  Puritans. 
"  I  raised  such  men  as  had  the  fear  of  God  before  them," 
said  Cromwell,  "  and  made  some  conscience  of  what  they 
did,  and  from  that  day  forward,  I  must  say  to  you,  they 
were  never  beaten,  and  whenever  they  engaged  against 
the  enemy,  they  beat  continually." 

In  1649  Charles  I.  was  brought  to  the  block.  England 
became  a  commonwealth,  and  with  Cromwell  as  Lord  Pro- 
tector occupied  a  commanding  position  among  European 
nations.  The  Protector  was  everywhere  feared.  He  sub- 
jugated Ireland ;  from  Spain  he  demanded  the  right  of 
free  trade  with  the  West  Indies ;  he  suppressed  the  Bar- 
bary  pirates  of  the  Mediterranean ;  he  forced  the  pope 
and  Catholic  rulers  to  cease  their  persecutions  of  Protes- 
tants. In  treating  with  foreign  sovereigns,  he  insisted  on 
receiving  the  formal  honors  paid  to  the  proudest  monarchs 
of  Europe.  He  returned  two  letters  to  Louis  XIV.  of 
France  because  they  were  not,  as  he  thought,  properly 
addressed.  "What,"  exclaimed  the  French  king  to  Cardi- 
nal Mazarin,  "  must  I  call  this  base  fellow  '  Our  dear 
Brother  Oliver  ' }  "  "  Aye,"  rephcd  the  crafty  minister, 
"  or  your  father,  if  it  will  gain  your  ends ;  or  you  will  have 
him  at  the  gates  of  Paris  !  " 

However  conducive  to  the  political  grandeur  of  England, 
the  triumph  of  Puritanisin  was  not  favorable  to  the  cause 


l6o  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

of  letters.     In  the  austere  atmosphere  of  Puritanic  piety 
there  is  little  encouragement  for  art  and  literature. 

The  aesthetic  sentiment  is  suppressed  by  ascetic  views  of 
life.  The  literary  impulse  finds  expression  only  in  devo- 
tional manuals,  unadorned  history,  or  severely  logical  the- 
ology. "  The  idea  of  the  beautiful  is  wanting,"  says  Taine, 
"  and  what  is  literature  without  it  t  The  natural  expression 
of  the  heart's  emotions  is  proscribed,  and  what  is  a  litera- 
ture without  it  ?  They  abolished  as  impious  the  free  stage 
and  the  rich  poesy  which  the  Renaissance  had  brought 
them.  They  rejected  as  profane  the  ornate  style  and  the 
ample  eloquence  which  had  been  established  around  them 
by  the  imitation  of  antiquity  and  of  Italy." 

The  decline  of  the  drama  became  inevitable.  Puritanism 
set  itself  not  only  against  the  theatre,  but  also  against  every 
other  form  of  worldly  amusement.  "  The  very  pastimes  of 
the  world,"  says  Green,  "  had  to  conform  themselves  to  the 
law  of  God.  There  were  no  more  races,  no  more  bull-bait- 
ings, no  more  cock-fighting,  no  more  dances  under  the  May- 
pole. Christmas  had  to  pass  without  its  junketings,  or 
mummers,  or  mince-pies."  Prynne,  a  distinguished  Puri- 
tan lawyer,  denounced  players  as  the  ministers  of  Satan, 
and  theatres  as  the  Devil's  chapels.  In  the  presence  of 
this  hostile  spirit,  the  splendid  Elizabethan  drama  lan- 
guished and  died. 

There  are  several  minor  writers  of  this  period  who,  on 
account  of  works  of  permanent  interest,  deserve  some 
attention.  Jeremy  Taylor  was  a  distinguished  clergy- 
man of  the  Established  Church,  who  in  1642,  "by  his 
Majesty's  command,"  pubHshed  an  able  treatise  in  de- 
fence of  the  "  Episcopacy."     His  "  Liberty  of  Prophesy- 


CIVIL    WAR    OR  PURITAN  PERIOD.  l6l 

ing"  was  a  plea  for  tolerance,  and  pointed  out  "the 
unreasonableness  of  prescribing  to  other  men's  faith,  and 
the  iniquity  of  persecuting  differing  opinion."  In  1650 
appeared  his  "  Holy  Living,"  and  the  year  following 
his  "  Holy  Dying,"  the  two  together  making  a  devo- 
tional volume  of  great  excellence.  Throughout  the 
conflicts  of  this  period  he  was  a  zealous  Royalist. 

Edward  Hyde,  Earl  of  Clarendon,  "  by  the  express 
command  of  Charles  I.,"  wrote  a  "  History  of  the  Re- 
bellion." He  wrote  as  an  apologist  of  the  Royahst 
party;  but  in  spite  of  its  partisan  spirit,  the  "History 
of  the  Rebellion"  is  a  work  of  permanent  value.  The 
author  was  a  man  of  ability  and  a  prominent  actor  in 
the  events  he  describes.  He  takes  us  behind  the  scenes, 
exhibiting  the  hidden  springs  of  events.  He  strips  his 
contemporaries  of  the  prestige  of  birth  and  place,  and 
portrays  them  as  they  appeared  in  the  intimacy  of  per- 
sonal intercourse.  And  with  all  this,  there  are  agree- 
able touches  of  humor,  many  sage  observations,  and  a 
courtly  dignity  of  manner. 

Richard  Baxter,  first  an  Anglican  and  afterward  a 
Nonconformist  minister,  was  an  assiduous  student,  and 
wrote  no  fewer  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  works. 
Boswell  once  asked  the  great  Dr.  Johnson  which  of 
Baxter's  works  he  recommended  to  be  read.  "  Read  any 
of  them,"  shouted  the  old  Churchman,  "they  are  all 
good."  This  statement  is  rather  strong;  but  two  of 
Baxter's  works,  his  "Saints'  Everlasting  Rest"  and  "The 
Reformed  Pastor,"  have  become  rehgious  classics,  though 
less  read  now  than  formerly.  In  1875  a  statue  was  erected 
by    Churchmen    and    Nonconformists,    as   the    inscription 

M 


1 62  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

says,  to  Baxter  at  Kidderminster  —  the  scene  of  his  labors 
for  nineteen  years.  On  that  occasion  Dean  Stanley 
delivered  an  address,  in  which  he  classed  the  great 
Nonconformist  preacher  among  the  men,  not  of  words 
alone  like  Milton,  nor  of  deeds  alone  like  Cromwell,  but 
of  words  and  deeds  together. 

One  of  the  most  pleasing  literary  figures  of  this  period 
is  Izaak  Walton.  After  accumulating  a  small  fortune 
as  a  linen-draper,  he  retired  from  business  in  I543,  and 
became,  as  has  been  said,  pontifix  piscatornm.  For  forty 
years  he  swayed  his  fishing-rod  as  a  sceptre  over  a 
circle  of  congenial  and  admiring  friends.  His  "  Com- 
plete Angler,  or  the  Contemplative  Man's  Recreation," 
published  in  1653,  is  a  delightful  book,  which  has 
passed  through  many  editions  both  in  England  and  this 
country. 

With  the  exception  of  Milton,  this  period  produced  no 
great  poet.  The  large,  creative  spirit  of  the  preceding 
era,  which  reflected  the  grandeur  and  power  of  the  Eng- 
lish people,  was  succeeded  by  a  narrow,  artificial  spirit, 
which  devoted  its  energies  to  the  turning  of  small  com- 
pliments and  the  tracing  of  remote  resemblances.  Since 
the  time  of  Dr.  Johnson,  it  has  been  customary  to  desig- 
nate these  writers,  among  whom  we  may  mention  Waller, 
Cowley,  Quarles,  Herrick,  Suckhng,  and  Carew,  as  meta- 
physical poets. 

The  term  artificial  or  fantastic  would  perhaps  be  more 
accurately  descriptive  of  their  character.  They  were  men 
of  learning,  but  took  too  much  pains  to  show  it.  They 
wrote  not  from  the  emotions  of  the  heart,  but  from  the 
deliberate  choice  of  the  will ;  and  hence  they  succeeded 


CIVIL    WAR    OR  PURITAN  PERIOD.  163 

not  in  giving  voice  to  nature,  but  only  in  pleasing  a  false 
and  artificial  taste.  They  abound  in  far  fetched  and  vio- 
lent figures ;  and  though  we  may  be  surprised  at  their 
ingenuity  in  discovering  remote  resemblances,  we  smile  at 
the  incongruous  result.     Thus  Carew  sings  :  — 

"  Ask  me  no  more,  whither  do  stray 
The  golden  atoms  of  the  day  ; 
For  in  pure  love,  heaven  did  prepare 
Those  powders  to  enrich  your  hair. 

"  Ask  me  no  more,  whither  doth  haste 
The  nightingale,  when  May  is  past ; 
For  in  your  sweet  dividing  throat 
She  winters,  and  keeps  warm  her  note. 

"Ask  me  no  more,  where  those  stars  light. 
That  downwards  fall  in  dead  of  night ; 
For  in  your  eyes  they  sit,  and  there 
Fixed  become,  as  in  their  sphere." 

It  is  not  in  such  laborious  conceits  that  nature  finds  a 
voice.  Speaking  of  these  poets,  Dr.  Johnson  says  :  "  Their 
attempts  were  always  analytic  ;  they  broke  every  image 
into  fragments ;  and  could  no  more  represent,  by  their 
slender  conceits  and  labored  particularities,  the  prospects 
of  nature,  or  the  scenes  of  life,  than  he  who  dissects  the 
sunbeam  with  a  prism  can  exhibit  the  wide  effulgence  of 
a  summer  noon.  What  they  wanted,  however,  of  the 
sublime,  they  endeavored  to  supply  by  hyperbole ;  their 
amplification  had  no  limits ;  they  left  not  only  reason  but 
fancy  behind  them ;  and  produced  combinations  of  con- 
fused magnificence  that  not  only  could  not  be  credited, 
but  could  not  be  imagined." 


1 64  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Yet  a  happy  trifle  was  now  and  then  hit  upon.  At  rare 
intervals  nature  seems  to  have  broken  through  the  casing 
of  artificiahty.  Francis  Ouarles  gives  forcible  poetic  ex- 
pansion to  Job's  prayer,  "  Oh  that  thou  wouldest  hide  me 
in  the  grave,  that  thou  wouldest  keep  me  secret,  until  thy 
wrath  be  past  "  :  — 

"  Ah,  whither  shall  I  fly  ?     What  path  untrod 
Shall  I  seek  out  to  escape  the  flaming  rod 
Of  my  offended,  of  my  angry  God? " 

There  is  a  light,  careless  spontaneity  about  the  little 
song  of  Herrick's  beginning:  — 

"  Gather  the  rose-buds  while  ye  may, 
Old  Time  is  still  a  flying ; 
And  this  same  flower  that  smiles  to-day 
To-morrow  will  be  dying." 

The  two  leading  representatives  of  the  metaphysical 
or  artificial  school  were  Edmund  Waller  and  Abraham 
Cowley.  The  former  was  an  orator  as  well  as  poet,  and 
served  many  times  in  Parliament.  He  delighted  the 
House  with  his  unfaiUng  wit ;  but  if  Bishop  Burnet  is 
right,  "  He  was  only  concerned  to  say  that  which  should 
make  him  applauded ;  he  never  laid  the  business  of  the 
House  to  heart,  being  a  vain  and  empty,  though  a  witty, 
man." 

Waller  lived  on  terms  of  familiar  intercourse  with  the 
Protector,  and  celebrated  him  in  a  "  Panegyric,"  which 
ranks  among  the  best  of  his  longer  poems  :  — 

"While  with  a  strong  and  yet  a  gentle  hand. 
You  bridle  faction  and  our  hearts  command, 
Protect  us  from  ourselves,  and  from  the  foe, 
Make  us  unite,  and  make  us  conquer  too." 


CIVIL    WAR    OR  PURITAN  PERIOD.  1 65 

At  the  restoration  of  Charles  II.  he  showed  hnnself 
a  pliant  courtier,  and  indited  some  verses  to  the  king 
"Upon  his  Majesty's  Happy  Return."  He  was  received 
with  favor  at  court.  The  king  called  the  poet's  atten- 
tion to  the  fact  that  the  lines  addressed  to  himself  were 
inferior  to  those  addressed  to  Cromwell.  "Ah,  Sire," 
replied  the  quick-witted  author,  "  poets  succeed  better  in 
fiction  than  in  truth." 

Though  he  wrote  serious  poems,  especially  in  his  old 
age,  he  was  happiest  in  the  lighter  vein.  He  did  not 
think  deeply  on  great  subjects,  but  expended  his  efforts 
in  maintaining  a  superficial  elegance.  Among  his  songs 
there  is  one  sweeter  than  all  the  rest,  beginning :  — 

''  Go,  lovely  rose  ! 
Tell  her  that  wastes  her  time  and  me, 

That  now  she  knows 
When  I  resemble  her  to  thee, 
How  sweet  and  fair  she  seems  to  be." 

Contemporary  criticism  is  not  always  just.  During  the 
lifetime  of  the  two  poets  the  fame  of  Cowley  entirely 
eclipsed  that  of  Milton.  Posterity  has  reversed  this 
estimate ;  and  we  may  now  ask  with  Pope  :  — 

"Who  now  reads  Cowley?     If  he  pleases  yet, 
His  moral  pleases,  not  his  pointed  wit ; 
Forgot  his  epic,  nay,  Pindaric  art.'' 

But  the  neglect  into  which  he  has  fallen  seems  not 
wholly  deserved.  He  was  the  most  popular  poet  of  his 
day ;  and  this  popularity  may  be  taken  as  indicative  of 
at  least  some  degree  of  merit.  While  speaking  of  the 
general  neglect  of  Cowley's  works,  Pope  adds  :  — 

"  But  still  I  love  the  lansuatre  of  his  heart." 


1 66  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Cowper  said  that  he  "  studied,  prized,  and  wished  that 
he  had  known  ingenious  Cowley."  And  Charles  Lamb 
confesses  that  Cowley  was  very  dear,  though  now  out  of 
fashion."  His  somewhat  voluminous  poems  contain  many 
passages  that  are  well  worth  perusal.  The  "  Davideis  " 
is  an  epic  poem  on  the  troubles  of  David.  The  gem  of 
the  poem  is  a  lyric,  which  the  enamoured  David  sings  as 
a  serenade  beneath  the  window  of  Michal,  the  daughter  of 

Saul :  — 

"  Awake,  awake,  my  lyre  ! 

And  tell  thy  silent  master's  humble  tale, 

In  sounds  that  may  prevail ; 
Sounds  that  gentle  thoughts  inspire, 

Though  so  exalted  she. 

And  I  so  lowly  be, 
Tell  her  such  different  notes  make  all  thy  harmony." 

After  his  death  in  1667  he  was  buried  with  great  pomp 
in  Westminster  Abbey,  where  he  lies  between  Spenser  and 
Chaucer.  Though  the  king  had  done  little  for  the  poet, 
he  was  not  ignorant  of  the  latter's  worth ;  and  when  the 
news  of  his  death  reached  the  court,  his  Majesty  declared 
that  "  Cowley  had  not  left  a  better  man  behind  him  in 
England." 


Engraved  by  R.  White.    Early  English  portr-ut. 


^-p^n.    fylxCl-ifrL. 


JOHN  MILTON.  167 


JOHN    MILTON. 

In  the  period  under  consideration,  Milton  stands  out  in 
almost  solitary  grandeur.  Intimately  associated  with  the 
political  and  religious  movements  of  his  time,  and  identi- 
fied in  principle  and  in  life  with  the  Puritan  party,  he  still 
rises  grandly  above  the  narrowness  of  his  age.  In  one 
work  at  least  he  rivals  the  great  achievements  of  the  age 
of  Elizabeth.  He  deserves  to  be  recognized  as  the  sub- 
limest  poet  of  all  times.  The  far-fetched  conceit  of  Dry- 
den,  whose  genuine  appreciation  of  Milton  at  a  time  when 
the  Puritan  poet  was  not  in  fashion  is  much  to  his  credit, 
hardly  surpasses  the  truth :  — 

"  Three  poets,  in  three  distant  ages  born, 
Greece,  Italy,  and  England  did  adorn. 
The  first  in  loftiness  of  thought  surpassed  ; 
The  next  in  majesty ;  in  both  the  last. 
The  force  of  nature  could  no  further  go  : 
To  make  a  third,  she  joined  the  other  two." 

John  Milton  was  born  in  London,  Dec.  9,  1608.  His 
father,  a  man  of  the  highest  integrity,  had  been  disin- 
herited for  espousing  the  Protestant  cause ;  but,  taking 
up  the  profession  of  a  scrivener,  he  acquired  the  means  of 
giving  his  son  a  liberal  education.  His  mother,  a  woman 
of  most  virtuous  character,  was  especially  distinguished 
for  her  neighborhood  charities.  The  private  tutor  of 
Milton  was  Thomas  Young,  a  Puritan  minister,  who  was 


1 68  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

afterward  forced  to  leave  the  kingdom  on  account  of  his 
religious  opinions.  Milton  showed  extraordinary  aptness 
in  learning;  and  when  in  1624  he  was  sent  to  Cambridge, 
he  was  master  of  several  languages  and  had  read  exten- 
sively in  philosophy  and  literature.  He  remained  at  the 
university  seven  years  and  took  the  usual  degrees. 

The  education  of  his  time  did  not,  however,  meet  with 
his  approval,  and  in  several  of  his  works  he  has  criticised 
the  subjects  and  methods  of  study  with  astonishing  inde- 
pendence and  wisdom.  His  educational  writings  deserv- 
edly rank  him  as  one  of  the  notable  educational  reformers 
of  modern  times.  "  And  for  the  usual  method  of  teaching 
arts,"  he  says,  "  I  deem  it  to  be  an  old  error  of  universities, 
not  yet  well  recovered  from  the  scholastic  grossness  of 
barbarous  ages,  that,  instead  of  beginning  with  arts  most 
easy  (and  those  be  such  as  are  most  obvious  to  the  senses), 
they  present  their  young,  unmatriculated  novices  at  first 
coming  with  the  most  intellective  abstractions  of  logic  and 
metaphysics ;  so  that  they,  having  but  newly  left  those 
grammatic  flats  and  shallows,  where  they  stuck  unreason- 
ably long  to  learn  a  few  words  with  lamentable  construc- 
tion, and  now  on  the  sudden  transported  under  another 
climate,  to  be  tossed  and  turmoiled  with  their  unballasted 
wits  in  fathomless  and  unquiet  depths  of  controversy,  do  for 
the  most  part  grow  into  hatred  and  contempt  of  learning, 
mocked  and  deluded  all  this  while  with  ragged  notions  and 
babblements,  while  they  expected  delightful  and  worthy 
knowledge." 

Milton  was  designed  by  his  parents  for  the  church. 
But  as  he  approached  maturity,  he  perceived  that  his  re- 
ligious convictions  and  ecclesiastical  independence  would 


JOHN  MILTON.  1 69 

not  allow  him  to  enter  the  Established  Church.  We  here 
see,  perhaps,  the  effects  of  his  Puritan  training.  Speaking 
of  this  matter  he  says  :  "  Coming  to  some  maturity  of  years 
and  perceiving  what  tyranny  had  invaded  the  church,  that 
he  who  would  take  orders  must  subscribe  slave,  and  take 
an  oath  withal,  which  unless  he  took  wqth  a  conscience 
that  he  would  relish,  he  must  either  perjure  or  split  his 
faith,  I  thought  better  to  prefer  a  blameless  silence  before 
the  sacred  office  of  speaking,  bought  and  begun  with  ser- 
vitude and  forswearing." 

In  1632  he  left  the  university,  amidst  the  regrets  of  the 
fellows  of  his  college,  and  retired  to  his  father's  house  at 
Horton  in  Buckinghamshire.  Here  he  spent  five  years  in 
laborious  study,  in  the  course  of  which  he  perused  all  the 
Greek  and  Latin  writers  of  the  classic  period.  He  also 
studied  Italian  and  was  accustomed,  as  he  tells  us,  "  to 
feast  with  avidity  and  delight  on  Dante  and  Petrarch." 
To  use  his  own  expression,  he  was  letting,  his  wings  grow. 
In  a  letter  to  a  friend  he  gives  us  some  interesting  par- 
ticulars in  regard  to  his  studies  and  habits  of  life.  "  You 
well  know,"  he  says,  "that  I  am  naturally  slow  in  writing 
and  averse  to  write.  It  is  also  in  my  favor  that  your 
method  of  study  is  such  as  to  admit  of  frequent  interrup- 
tions, in  which  you  visit  your  friends,  write  letters,  or  go 
abroad  ;  but  it  is  my  way  to  suffer  no  impediment,  no 
love  of  ease,  no  avocation  whatever,  to  chill  the  ardor, 
to  break  the  continuity,  or  divert  the  completion  of  my 
literary  pursuits." 

It  was  during  this  period  of  studious  retirement  that 
he  produced  several  of  his  choicest  poems,  among  which 
are"Comus,"  "  L' Allegro,"  and  "II  Penseroso."     "Comus" 


I/O  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

is  the  most  perfect  mask  in  any  language.  But  "  in  none 
of  the  works  of  Milton,"  says  Macaulay,  "is  his  peculiar 
manner  more  happily  displayed  than  in  '  Allegro  '  and  the 
*  Penseroso.'  It  is  impossible  to  conceive  that  the  mech- 
anism of  language  can  be  brought  to  a  more  exquisite 
degree  of  perfection.  These  poems  differ  from  others 
as  attar  of  roses  differs  from  ordinary  rose  water,  the  close- 
packed  essence  from  the  thin  diluted  mixture.  They  are 
indeed  not  so  much  poems  as  collections  of  hints,  from 
each  of  which  the  reader  is  to  make  a  poem  for  himself. 
Every  epithet  is  a  text  for  a  stanza." 

At  the  time  these  two  poems  were  written,  they  stood 
as  the  high-water  mark  of  English  poetry.  In  their  sphere 
they  have  never  been  excelled.  In  spite  of  little  inaccu- 
racies of  description  (for  Milton  was  too  much  in  love  with 
books  to  be  a  close  observer  of  nature),  we  find  nowhere 
else  such  an  exquisite  delineation  of  country  life  and  coun- 
try scenes.  These  idyls  are  the  more  remarkable  because 
their  light,  joyous  spirit  stands  in  strong  contrast  with  the 
elevation,  dignity,  and  austerity  of  his  other  poems. 

Take,  for  example,  this  picture  from  a  description  of 
morning  scenes :  — 

''  While  the  cock,  with  lively  din, 
Scatters  the  rear  of  darkness  thin  ; 
And  to  the  stack,  or  the  barn  door, 
Stoutly  struts  his  dames  before." 

Or  this  picture  from  a  description  of  evening  :  -. — 

"  Oft,  on  a  plat  of  rising  ground, 
I  hear  the  far-off  curfew  sound 
Over  some  wide-watered  shore. 
Swinging  slow  with  sullen  roar." 


JOHN  MILTON.  I71 

"Lycidas,"  published  in  1637,  is  a  pastoral  elegy,  com- 
memorating the  death  of  Edward  King,  a  young  college 
friend,  who  was  drowned  in  the  Irish  Sea.  It  is  one  of 
the  noblest  elegies  in  our  language,  full  of  subdued,  classic 
beauty.  It  contains  a  celebrated  passage  denouncing  the 
mercenary  character  of  the  Anglican  prelates.  The  pass- 
ing of  Lycidas  from  death  to  celestial  life  is  hkened  to  the 
course  of  the  sun  :  — 

"  So  sinks  the  day  star  in  the  ocean-bed. 
And  yet  anon  repairs  his  drooping  head, 
And  tricks  his  beams,  and  with  new-spangled  ore 
Flames  in  the  forehead  of  the  morning  sky." 

At  length  Milton  began  to  tire  of  his  country  life  and 
to  long  for  the  pleasures  and  benefits  of  travel.  In  1638 
he  left  England  for  a  tour  on  the  Continent.  At  Paris 
he  met  Grotius,  one  of  the  most  learned  men  of  his  age, 
who  resided  at  the  French  capital  as  ambassador  from 
the  Queen  of  Sweden.  After  a  few  days  he  went  to 
Italy  and  visited  all  the  principal  cities.  He  was  every- 
where cordially  received  by  men  of  learning,  who  were 
not  slow  to  recognize  his  genius.  In  his  travels  he  pre- 
served an  admirable  and  courageous  independence.  Even 
under  the  shadow  of  St.  Peter's,  he  made  no  effort  to 
conceal  his  religious  opinions.  "  It  was  a  rule,"  he  says, 
"which  I  laid  down  to  myself  in  those  places,  never  to 
be  the  first  to  begin  any  conversation  on  religion  ;  but  if 
any  question  were  put  to  me  concerning  my  faith,  to 
declare  it  without  any  reserve  or  fear.  .  .  .  For  about 
the  space  of  two  months  I  again  openly  defended,  as 
I  had  done  before,  the  reformed  religion  in  the  very 
metropohs  of  Popery." 


172  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

The  Italians,  who  were  frugal  in  their  praise  of  men 
from  beyond  the  Alps,  received  some  of  Milton's  pro- 
ductions with  marks  of  high  appreciation.  This  had  the 
effect  to  confirm  his  opinion  of  his  own  power  and  to 
stimulate  his  hope  of  achieving  something  worthy  of 
remembrance.  "  I  began  thus  to  assent  both  to  them, 
and  divers  of  my  friends  at  home,"  he  tells  us  in  an 
interesting  passage,  "  and  not  less  to  an  inward  prompt- 
ing, which  now  grew  daily  upon  me,  that,  by  labor  and 
intense  study  (which  I  take  to  be  my  portion  in  this 
life),  I  might  perhaps  leave  something  so  written  to 
after-times  as  they  should  not  willingly  let  die."  He 
was  about  to  extend  his  travels  into  Sicily  and  Greece 
when  the  news  of  the  civil  commotions  in  England  caused 
him  to  change  his  purpose;  "for  I  thought  it  base,"  he 
says,  "  to  be  travelling  for  amusement  abroad,  while  my 
fellow-citizens  were  fighting  for  liberty  at  home." 

Not  being  called  to  serve  the  state  in  any  official 
capacity  on  his  arrival  in  London,  he  rented  a  spacious 
house  in  which  he  conducted  a  private  school.  He 
sought  to  exemplify,  in  some  measure  at  least,  his  edu- 
cational theories.  He  held  that  languages  should  be 
studied  for  the  sake  of  the  literary  treasures  they  con- 
tain. He  accordingly  laid  but  little  stress  on  minute 
verbal  drill  and  sought  to  acquaint  his  pupils  with  what 
was  best  in  classic  literature.  A  long  list  of  Latin  and 
Greek  authors  was  read.  Besides,  he  attached  much 
importance  to  religious  instruction ;  and  on  Sunday  he 
dictated  to  his  pupils  an  outline  of    Protestant  theology. 

But  this  school  has  called  forth  some  unfavorable 
criticism   upon   its    founder.     Dr.    Johnson,  who   delights 


JOHN  MILTON.  1 73 

in  severe  reflections,  calls  attention  to  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  lofty  sentiment  and  small  performance  of  the 
poet,  who,  "  when  he  reaches  the  scene  of  action,  vapors 
away  his  patriotism  in  a  private  boarding-school."  The 
animadversion  is  unjust.  Though  modestly  laboring  as 
a  teacher,  Milton's  talents  and  learning  were  sincerely 
devoted  to  the  service  of  his  country.  He  has  himself 
given  us  what  ought  to  be  a  satisfactory  explanation. 
"Avoiding  the  labors  of  the  camp,"  he  says,  "in  which 
any  robust  soldier  would  have  surpassed  me,  I  betook 
myself  to  those  weapons  which  I  could  wield  with  most 
effect ;  and  I  conceived  that  I  was  acting  wisely  when 
I  thus  brought  my  better  and  more  valuable  faculties, 
those  which  constituted  my  principal  strength  and  con- 
sequence, to  the  assistance  of  my  country  and  her  hon- 
orable cause." 

In  1641  he  published  his  first  work  in  prose,  "Of 
Reformation  in  England,  and  the  Causes  that  hitherto 
Have  Hindered  It."  It  is  an  attack  upon  the  bishops 
and  the  Established  Church.  The  same  year  appeared 
two  other  controversial  works,  "  Of  Prelatical  Episco- 
pacy," which  he  maintains  is  without  warrant  from  apos- 
tolic times,  and  "The  Reason  of  Church  Government," 
which  is  an  argument  against  prelacy.  With  these  works 
Milton  threw  himself  into  the  bitter  controversies  of  the 
age.  It  was  a  matter,  not  of  choice,  but  of  duty.  He 
felt  called  to  add  the  weight  of  his  learning  and  elo- 
quence to  the  side  of  the  Puritans,  who  were  perhaps 
inferior  to  their  prelatical  opponents  in  scholarship.  He 
tells  us  himself  that  he  "was  not  disposed  to  this  man- 
ner of  writing,   wherein    knowing  myself    inferior  to  my- 


174 


ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


self,  led  by  the  genial  power  of  nature  to  another  task, 
I  have  the  use,  as  I  may  account  it,  but  of  my  left  hand." 

In  1643,  in  his  thirty-fifth  year,  Milton  married  Mary 
Powell,  daughter  of  a  justice  of  the  peace  in  Oxfordshire. 
She  was  of  Royalist  family  and  had  been  brought  up  in 
the  leisure  and  gayety  of  affluence.  It  is  not  strange, 
therefore,  that  she  found  the  meagre  fare  and  studious 
habits  of  her  husband's  home  distasteful.  After  a  month 
in  this  scholastic  abode,  she  made  a  visit  to  her  father's 
home,  from  which  she  refused  to  return.  Her  husband's 
letters  were  left  unanswered,  and  his  messenger  was  dis- 
missed with  contempt.  Milton  felt  this  breach  of  duty  on 
her  part  very  keenly,  and  resolved  to  repudiate  his  wife 
on  the  ground  of  disobedience  and  desertion. 

In  support  of  his  course,  he  published  in  1644  a  treatise 
entitled,  "  The  Doctrine  and  Discipline  of  Divorce,"  and 
the  year  following  his  "Tetrachordon,  or  Expositions  on  the 
Four  Chief  Places  of  Scripture  which  treat  of  Marriage." 
He  maintains  "  that  indisposition,  unfitness,  or  contrariety 
of  mind,  arising  from  a  cause  in  nature  unchangeable,  hin- 
dering, and  likely  to  hinder  the  main  benefits  of  conjugal 
society,  which  are  solace  and  peace,"  is  a  justifiable  ground 
of  divorce.  As  might  be  expected,  he  argued  with  great 
skill;  but  he  was  smarting  at  the  time  under  a  sense  of 
personal  humiliation  and  wrong,  and  it  may  be  doubted 
whether  he  himself  afterward  approved  of  his  extreme 
position.     His  views  were  bitterly  assailed. 

At  last  a  reconciliation  between  him  and  his  wife  was 
effected.  When  one  day  she  suddenly  appeared  before 
him,  and  on  her  knees  begged  his  forgiveness,  his  gener- 
ous impulses  were  deeply  moved.     He  received  her  into  his 


JOHN  MILTON.  175 

home  again,  and  ever  afterward  treated  her  with  affection  ; 
and  when  her  family,  because  of  their  Royalist  sympathies, 
fell  into  distress,  he  generously  extended  his  protection  to 
her  father  and  brothers.  The  incidents  of  this  recon- 
ciliation are  supposed  to  have  given  rise  to  a  beautiful 
passage  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  where  Eve  is  described  as 
humbly  falling  in  tears  and  disordered  tresses  at  the  feet 
of  Adam,  and  suing  for  pardon  and  peace.     And  then  — 

"She  ended,  weeping;  and  her  lowly  plight, 
Immovable  till  peace  obtained  from  fault 
Acknowledged  and  deplored,  in  Adam  wrought 
Commiseration ;  soon  his  heart  relented 
Towards  her,  his  life  so  late,  and  sole  delight, 
Now  at  his  feet  submissive  in  distress ; 
Creature  so  fair  his  reconcilement  seeking. 
His  counsel,  whom  she  had  displeased,  his  aid." 

This  same  year,  1644,  saw  the  publication  of  two  other 
treatises  that  will  long  survive.  The  one  is  the  "  Are- 
opagitica,  or  Speech  for  the  Liberty  of  Unlicensed  Print- 
ing," the  other  is  his  "Tractate  on  Education."  In  the 
latter  he  has  set  forth  in  brief  compass  his  educational 
views  and  made  many  suggestions  for  the  improvement 
of  the  current  system.  It  has  been  pronounced  Utopian 
in  character,  but  it  is  to  be  noted  that  many  educational 
reforms  of  recent  years  have  been  in  the  line  indicated  by 
Milton. 

His  definition  of  education,  which  has  been  often  quoted, 
presents  a  beautiful  ideal.  "  I  call  a  complete  and  gener- 
ous education,"  he  says,  "  that  which  fits  a  man  to  perform 
justly,  skilfully,  and  magnanimously  all  the  offices,  both 
private  and  public,  of  peace  and  war."     But  he  does  not 


176 


ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


contemplate  practical  efficiency  in  the  secular  duties  of 
life  as  the  sole  end  of  education.  Its  highest  aim  is  char- 
acter. "The  end  of  learning  is,"  he  says,  "to  repair  the 
ruins  of  our  first  parents  by  regaining  to  know  God  aright, 
and  out  of  that  knowledge  to  love  him,  to  imitate  him,  to 
be  like  him,  as  we  may  the  nearest  by  possessing  our  souls 
of  true  virtue,  which  being  united  to  the  heavenly  grace  of 
faith  makes  up  the  highest  perfection." 

Languages  are  to  be  studied  in  order  to  learn  the  useful 
things  embodied  in  the  literatures  of  those  peoples  that 
have  made  the  highest  attainments  in  wisdom.  "And 
though  a  linguist  should  pride  himself  to  have  all  the 
tongues  that  Babel  cleft  the  world  into,  yet  if  he  have  not 
studied  the  solid  things  in  them,  as  well  as  the  words  and 
lexicons,  he  were  nothing  so  much  to  be  esteemed  a  learned 
man  as  any  yeoman  or  tradesman  competently  wise  in  his 
mother  dialect  only." 

He  held  that  the  subjects  studied  and  the  tasks  imposed 
should  be  wisely  adapted  to  the  learner's  age  and  prog- 
ress ;  and  he  strongly  denounces  the  "  preposterous  exac- 
tion "  which  forces  "the  empty  wits  of  children  to  compose 
themes,  verses,  and  orations,  which  are  the  acts  of  ripest 
judgment  and  the  final  work  of  a  head  filled  by  long  read- 
ing and  observing  with  elegant  maxims  and  copious  inven- 
tion." The  outline  of  studies  he  proposes  includes  nearly 
the  whole  circuit  of  learning  —  a  curriculum  of  heroic 
mould.  Milton  himself  seems  to  have  been  conscious  of 
the  vastness  of  his  plan;  and  he  concludes  the  "Tractate" 
with  the  remark,  "  That  this  is  not  a  bow  for  every  man  to 
shoot  in  that  counts  himself  a  teacher,  but  will  require 
sinews  almost  equal  to  those  which  Homer  gave  Ulysses." 


JOHN  MILTON.  lyy 

Milton  continued  to  live  in  private,  giving  his  life  to 
instructing  his  pupils  and  to  discussing  questions  relating 
to  the  public  weal.  In  1649,  two  weeks  after  the  execu- 
tion of  Charles  I.,  he  published  his  "  Tenure  of  Kings  and 
Magistrates,"  in  which  he  undertook  to  prove  that  it  is 
lawful,  and  has  been  held  so  in  all  ages,  for  any  who  have 
the  power,  to  call  to  account  a  tyrant  or  wicked  king,  and, 
after  due  conviction,  to  depose  and  put  him  to  death. 
This  treatise  marked  a  turning-point  in  his  career.  The 
Council  of  State  of  the  new  commonwealth,  pleased  with 
his  courage  and  republicanism,  called  him  to  the  secre- 
taryship for  foreign  tongues.  It  became  his  duty  to  pre- 
pare the  Latin  letters  which  were  addressed  by  the 
Council  to  foreign  princes.  Later  he  served  as  Crom- 
well's Latin  Secretary  —  an  office  he  held  throughout  the 
Protectorate. 

His  literary  and  controversial  activity,  however,  did  not 
cease  in  his  official  life.  His  "  Eikonoklastes,"  or  Image- 
breaker,  was  written  in  1649,  to  counteract  the  influence  of 
"  Eikon  Basilike,"  or  Royal  Image,  a  book  that  had  an 
immense  circulation  and  tended  to  create  a  reaction  in 
public  sentiment  in  favor  of  the  monarchy.  A  still  more 
important  work  was  his  Latin  "  Pro  Populo  Anglicano 
Defensio,"  which  was  written  in  reply  to  a  treatise  by 
Salmasius,  a  scholar  of  Leyden,  in  which  an  effort  was 
made  to  vindicate  the  memory  of  Charles  I.  and  to  bring 
reproach  upon  the  commonwealth.  In  spite  of  failing 
vision  and  the  warning  of  his  physicians,  Milton  threw 
himself  with  great  ardor  into  his  task,  and  in  165 1  pub- 
lished his  "  Defensio,"  one  of  the  most  masterly  contro- 
versial works  ever  wTitten.     Ho  practically  annihilated  his 

N 


1/8  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

opponent.  The  commonwealth,  it  was  said,  owed  its 
standing  in  Europe  to  Cromwell's  battles  and  Milton's 
books. 

During  the  Protectorate  Milton's  life  was  uneventful. 
He  bore  his  blindness,  which  had  now  become  total,  with 
heroic  fortitude,  upheld  by  a  beautiful  faith,  to  which  he 
gave  expression  in  a  sonnet  "On  his  Blindness"  :  — 

"  God  doth  not  need 
Either  man's  work,  or  his  own  gifts ;  who  best 
Bear  his  mild  yoke,  they  serve  him  best ;  his  state 
Is  kingly  :  thousands  at  his  bidding  speed, 
And  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  without  rest ; 
They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait." 

At  the  Restoration,  though  specially  named  for  punish- 
ment, he  somehow  escaped  the  scaffold.  His  life,  how- 
ever, was  for  some  years  one  of  solitude  and  dejection. 
His  own  feelings  are  put  into  the  mouth  of  his  Samson  :  — 

"  Now  blind,  disheartened,  shamed,  dishonored,  quelled, 
To  what  can  I  be  useful?     Wherein  serve 
My  nation,  and  the  work  from  heaven  imposed? 
But  to  sit  idle  on  the  household  hearth, 
A  burdensome  drone,  to  visitants  a  gaze, 
Or  pitied  object." 

To  add  to  his  distress,  his  three  daughters,  whose  rear- 
ing had  been  somewhat  neglected,  failed  to  prove  a  com- 
fort to  their  father  in  his  sore  afflictions.  They  treated 
him  with  disrespect,  sold  his  books  by  stealth,  and  rebelled 
against  the  drudgery  of  reading  to  him.  Under  these 
circumstances  it  is  hardly  to  be  wondered  at  that  he 
allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded  (his  second  wife  having 


JOHN  MILTON.  I  79 

died  eight  years  before)  into  contracting  a  third  marriage 
—  a  union  that  greatly  added  to  the  comfort  and  happi- 
ness of  his  last  years. 

But  in  all  this  period  of  trial,  Milton  had  the  solace  of  a 
noble  task.  He  was  slowly  elaborating  his  "  Paradise 
Lost,"  in  which  he  realized  the  dream  of  his  youth.  Its 
main  theme  is  indicated  in  the  opening  lines  :  — 

''  Of  man's  first  disobedience,  and  the  fruit 
Of  that  forbidden  tree,  whose  mortal  taste 
Brought  death  into  the  world,  and  all  our  woe, 
With  loss  of  Eden,  fill  one  greater  Man 
Restore  us,  and  regain  the  blissful  seat, 
Sing,  heavenly  Muse,  that  on  the  secret  top 
Of  Oreb,  or  of  Sinai,  didst  inspire 
That  shepherd,  who  first  taught  the  chosen  seed, 
In  the  beginning,  how  the  heavens  and  earth 
Rose  out  of  chaos." 

But  the  poem  must  be  read  before  its  grandeur  can  be 
appreciated.  It  is  one  of  the  world's  great  epics ;  and  in 
majesty  of  plan  and  sublimity  of  treatment  it  surpasses 
them  all.  The  Eternal  Spirit,  which  he  invokes,  seems  to 
have  touched  his  lips  with  hallowed  fire.  The  splendors 
of  heaven,  the  horrors  of  hell,  and  the  beauties  of  Paradise 
are  depicted  with  matchless  power.  The  beings  of  the  un- 
seen world  —  angels  and  demons  —  exercise  before  us  their 
mighty  agency ;  and  in  the  council  chambers  of  heaven 
we  hear  the  words  of  the  Almighty.  The  poem  compre- 
hends the  universe,  sets  forth  the  truth  of  divine  govern- 
ment, and  exhibits  life  in  its  eternal  significance  —  a  poem 
that  rises  above  the  petty  incidents  of  earth  with  monu- 
mental splendor.     It  met  with  appreciation  from  the  start. 


l80  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

With  a  clear  recognition  of  its  worth,  Dryden  said,  "  This 
man  cuts  us  all  out,  and  the  ancients  too."  Milton's 
modest  house  became  a  pilgrim's  shrine,  and  men  from 
every  rank,  not  only  from  his  native  land,  but  also  from 
abroad,  came  to  pay  him  homage. 

Milton's  literary  activity  continued  to  the  last,  and  en- 
riched our  literature  with  two  other  noble  productions, 
"Paradise  Regained"  and  "Samson  Agonistes."  The 
former  may  be  regarded  as  a  sequel  to  "  Paradise  Lost  "  ; 
the  latter  is  the  most  powerful  drama  in  our  language  after 
the  Greek  model.  The  poet,  unconsciously  perhaps,  iden- 
tified himself  with  his  Samson,  and  gave  utterance  to  the 
profoundest  emotions  which  had  been  awakened  by  the 
mighty  conflicts  and  sorrows  of  his  own  life. 

He  died  Nov.  8,  1674.  He  was  a  man  of  heroic  mould. 
In  his  solitary  grandeur  only  one  man  of  his  age  deserves 
to  be  placed  beside  him  —  the  great  Protector,  Oliver 
Cromwell.  His  greatness  was  austere.  In  his  life  he  had 
no  intimate  and  tender  companionships  ;  and  now  our  feel- 
ing toward  him  is  admiration  rather  than  love.  His  char- 
acter was  without  blemish,  his  aspirations  pure  and  lofty, 
his  courage  undaunted,  his  intellectual  vigor  and  power 
almost  without  parallel.  But  he  was  conscious  of  his 
greatness,  and,  finding  ample  resources  within  himself,  he 
did  not  seek  human  sympathy.     Wordsworth  has  spoken 

truly,  — 

"  Thy  soul  was  like  a  star,  and  dwelt  apart." 

Like  his  own  "  Paradise  Lost,"  he  appears,  with  his 
Titanic  proportions  and  independent  loneliness,  as  the 
most  impressive  figure  in   English  literature. 


Enirravfd  by  G.  Zobul. 


^ 


^. 


(A-t-^" 


JOHN  BUN Y AN.  l8l 


JOHN    BUNYAN. 

In  scholarly  culture  never  was  a  writer  less  fitted  for 
authorship  than  Bunyan.  He  sprang  from  a  very  humble 
origin ;  his  school  training  was  exceedingly  elementary ; 
his  associates  were  uneducated  people ;  his  reading  was 
almost  exclusively  confined  to  three  or  four  religious  books. 
Yet,  in  spite  of  this  meagre  outfit  in  literary  culture,  he 
wrote  a  book  that  has  become  a  classic.  It  is  the  greatest 
allegory  ever  written,  and  in  graphic  power  of  portraiture 
it  is  scarcely  inferior  to  the  creations  of  Shakespeare. 
What  is  the  secret  of  this  achievement }  It  is  to  be  found, 
first,  in  the  divine  gift  of  genius,  and,  second,  in  the  ex- 
traordinary depth  of  his  varied  religious  experience.  He 
wrote  directly  from  the  fulness  of  knowledge  which  he  had 
gained  through  years  of  spiritual  conflict. 

In  "Grace  Abounding  to  the  Chief  of  Sinners,"  we 
have  Bunyan's  autobiography.  As  the  title  indicates,  it  is 
chiefly  occupied  with  his  religious  trials  and  triumphs.  In 
comparison  with  the  supreme  interest  of  religion,  his  Puri- 
tanic spirit  deems  the  outward  circumstances  of  life  as  lit- 
tle better  than  vanity.  He  was  born  at  Elstow,  a  village 
near  Bedford,  in  1628.  His  father  was  a  mender  of  pots 
and  kettles  —  a  trade  to  which  he  was  himself  brought  up. 
At  school  he  learned  to  read  and  write ;  but  "  to  my 
shame,"  he  says,  "  I  confess  I  did  soon  lose  that  little  I 
learnt,  even  almost  utterly." 


1 82  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

In  childhood  and  youth  he  was  singularly  sensitive  in 
matters  of  religion.  Either  in  his  home  or  at  school  the 
doctrines  of  Puritan  theology  had  been  impressed  upon 
him.  He  believed  himself  the  chief  of  sinners  and  has 
drawn  a  very  dark  picture  of  his  youthful  life.  Though 
he  probably  exaggerated  the  degree  of  his  wickedness,  as 
some  of  his  biographers  have  asserted,  yet  his  particular 
statements  form  a  grievous  indictment.  He  had  few 
equals,  he  tells  us,  "  in  cursing,  swearing,  lying,  and  blas- 
pheming the  holy  name  of  God.  ...  I  was  the  very  ring- 
leader of  all  the  youth  that  kept  me  company,  in  all  manner 
of  vice  and  ungodliness."  Yet,  in  this  vicious  course  of 
life,  he  was  not  thoroughly  hardened.  His  conscience  was 
continually  troubling  him  by  day,  and  frightful  visions  of 
evil  spirits  haunted  him  by  night.  When  he  discovered 
wickedness  in  those  who  professed  godliness,  it  made  him 
tremble.  Throughout  this  youthful  period,  in  spite  of  his 
iterated  self-reproach,  we  discern  the  workings  of  an  ab- 
normally sensitive  conscience,  and  of  a  restless,  powerful 
imagination. 

In  speaking  of  this  early  period  of  his  life,  he  notes  with 
gratitude  several  special  providences.  He  was  twice  saved 
from  drowning,  and  was  once  preserved  from  the  bite  of 
an  adder.  In  the  Civil  War  he  joined  the  Parliamentary 
army,  and  on  one  occasion,  as  he  thought,  narrowly  escaped 
death.  "  When  I  was  a  soldier,"  to  give  his  own  account 
of  the  incident,  "  I,  with  others,  was  drawn  out  to  go  to 
such  a  place  to  besiege  it;  but  when  I  was  just  ready  to 
go,  one  of  the  company  desired  to  go  in  my  room  :  to  which, 
when  I  had  consented,  he  took  my  place ;  and  coming  to 
the  siege,  as  he  stood  sentinel,  he  was  shot  in  the  head 


JOHN  BUNYAN.  1 83 

with  a  musket  bullet  and  died."  These  he  called  "judg- 
ments mixed  with  mercy." 

He  married  a  pious  woman  whose  only  dowry  was  "  The 
Plain  Man's  Pathway  to  Heaven"  and  "  The  Practice  of 
Piety."  This,  it  must  be  confessed,  was  a  slim  outfit  for 
housekeeping  ;  but  otherwise,  he  tells  us,  they  did  not  have 
"so  much  household  stuff  as  a  dish  or  a  spoon."  They 
sometimes  read  together  in  these  devotional  works.  "  They 
did  beget  within  me,"  he  continues,  "  some  desires  to  re- 
form my  vicious  life,  and  fall  in  very  eagerly  with  the  reli- 
gion of  the  times ;  to  wit,  to  go  to  church  twice  a  day,  and 
that  too  with  the  foremost ;  and  there  very  devotedly  both 
say  and  sing,  as  others  did,  yet  retaining  my  wicked  life." 

But  he  soon  fell  into  a  state  of  despair,  believing  that  it 
was  too  late  for  him  to  repent  and  be  forgiven.  He  re- 
solved to  go  on  in  sin,  and  studied  what  forms  of  evil  might 
yet  be  indulged  in  that  he  "  might  taste  the  sweetness  of 
it."  This  continued  for  some  weeks,  when  the  severe  re- 
proof of  a  woman,  herself  a  "  loose  and  ungodly  wretch," 
put  him  to  shame.  From  that  time  forward  he  gave  up 
the  ugly  habit  of  swearing,  and  to  his  surprise  (though  not 
to  that  of  decent  people)  he  found  that  he  "could,  without 
it,  speak  better,  and  with  more  pleasantness  than  ever 
before."  He  began  to  read  the  Scriptures,  especially  the 
historical  portions,  with  interest ;  and  his  effort  to  keep  its 
commandments  led  to  an  outward  reformation  of  his  life. 
His  neighbors  marvelled  at  the  change  in  his  conduct  and 
took  pains,  both  to  his  face  and  behind  his  back,  to  com- 
mend him  as  an  honest  and  godly  man. 

While  thus  striving  to  live  blamelessly  in  the  eyes  of 
those  about  him,  he  was  still  troubled.     The  conversation 


1 84  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

of  some  pious  women  led  him  to  realize  that  there  was  a 
spiritual  experience  —  a  peace  and  joy  in  God  —  of  which 
he  was  still  ignorant.  He  found  difficulty  in  understand- 
ing and  exercising  faith.  Besides,  he  was  greatly  dis- 
tressed over  the  doctrine  of  election.  He  was  continually 
asking  himself :  "  How  can  you  tell  that  you  are  elected } 
And  what  if  you  should  not  be.-*  How  then.''"  He  longed 
for  conversion.  "  Gold !  could  it  have  been  gotten  for 
gold,  what  would  I  have  given  for  it !  Had  I  had  a  whole 
world,  it  had  all  gone  ten  thousand  times  over  for  this, 
that  my  soul  might  have  been  in  a  converted  state." 

In  his  distress  Bunyan  sought  counsel  of  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Gifford  of  Bedford,  who  performed  for  him  the  office  of 
"  EvangeHst."  He  at  last  obtained  a  satisfying  view  of 
the  love  of  God.  "And  with  that,"  he  tells  us,  "my  heart 
was  filled  full  of  comfort  and  hope,  and  now  I  could  believe 
that  my  sins  would  be  forgiven  me ;  yea,  I  was  now  so 
taken  with  the  love  and  mercy  of  God  that  I  remember  I 
could  not  tell  how  to  contain  till  I  got  home ;  I  thought  I 
could  have  spoken  of  his  love,  and  have  told  of  his  mercy 
to  me,  even  to  the  very  crows  that  sat  upon  the  ploughed 
lands  before  me,  had  they  been  capable  to  have  under- 
stood me." 

But  his  spiritual  trials  were  by  no  means  at  an  end.  He 
had  to  fight  with  Apollyon  ;  to  pass  through  the  Valley  of 
the  Shadow  of  Death.  Doubts  assailed  him ;  temptations 
to  blasphemy  beset  him  ;  he  felt  an  almost  irresistible  im- 
pulse to  commit  the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost;  he  looked 
upon  himself  as  a  second  Judas.  No  other  soul  was  ever 
more  tormented.  Yet  at  last  he  "was  loosed  from  his 
afflictions  and  irons;    his  temptations   fled  away;"    and 


JOHN  BUNYAN.  1 85 

henceforth  he  was  able  to  Hve  in  sight  of  the  Celestial 
City. 

He  united  with  the  Baptist  congregation  at  Bedford. 
After  a  time  his  gifts  as  a  speaker  were  discovered,  and 
he  was  set  apart  as  a  preacher.  He  entered  upon  his 
office  with  great  humility ;  and  it  was  only  after  hundreds 
had  flocked  to  hear  him,  and  many  had  turned  from  sin  to 
righteousness,  that  he  became  firmly  established  in  his 
vocation.  He  always  spoke  from  the  depths  of  his  own 
conviction ;  and  because  his  religious  experience  had  been 
extremely  varied  and  profound,  he  spoke  with  unusual 
spiritual  power.  He  often  felt,  to  use  his  own  words,  "  as 
if  an  angel  of  God  had  stood  at  his  back  to  encourage 
him."  Yet  his  path  was  not  smooth.  He  was  opposed  by 
the  established  clergy  ;  but  instead  of  returning  railing  for 
railing,  he  sought  a  more  exquisite  vengeance  by  convert- 
ing as  many  of  "  their  carnal  professors  "  as  possible.  He 
was  vilely  slandered ;  but  instead  of  being  troubled  and 
cast  down,  he  comforted  himself  with  the  words,  "  Blessed 
are  ye  when  men  shall  revile  you,  and  persecute  you,  and 
say  all  manner  of  evil  against  you  falsely,  for  my  sake. 
Rejoice,  and  be  exceeding  glad,  for  great  is  your  reward 
in  heaven." 

The  sermons  of  Bunyan,  a  number  of  which  have  been 
preserved,  are  in  keeping  with  the  general  style  of  preach- 
ing then  in  vogue.  Compared  with  sermons  of  the  pres- 
ent day,  they  are  tediously  long.  They  are  designed  to  be 
comprehensive  in  treatment ;  and  therefore,  instead  of 
leaving  something  to  the  intelligence  of  the  hearer,  they 
abound  in  the  most  obvious  commonplaces.  There  is 
scarcely  any  end  to  the  divisions  and  subdivisions.      They 


1 86  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

are  more  concerned  with  thought  than  style ;  and  instead 
of  rhetorical  grace,  we  find  only  simplicity  and  directness. 
Their  remarkable  effectiveness  was  due  to  the  intellectual 
vigor  and  moving  earnestness  of  the  speaker  —  a  fact  that 
emphasizes  for  us  the  importance  of  the  personal  element 
in  public  discourse. 

After  preaching  five  years  with  great  success,  he  entered 
on  a  long  period  of  tribulation.  Charles  II.  had  ascended 
the  throne,  and  the  Act  of  Uniformity,  which  had  been 
suspended  during  the  commonwealth,  was  again  revived. 
The  Dissenters'  chapels  were  closed,  and  on  Sundays  the 
people  were  required  to  be  present  in  the  parish  church. 
The  Bedford  Baptists  refused  to  obey  ;  and  their  church 
being  closed,  Bunyan  continued  to  preach  to  them  either 
in  the  woods  or  in  private  houses.  But  the  officers  of  the 
law  were  on  the  watch ;  and  it  was  not  long  till  he  was 
arrested  on  the  charge  of  "  devilishly  and  perniciously  ab- 
staining from  coming  to  church  to  hear  divine  service,  and 
of  upholding  unlawful  meetings  and  conventicles."  The 
judges  were  disposed  to  be  lenient  with  him  ;  but  as  he 
uncompromisingly  refused  to  promise  that  he  would  ab- 
stain from  preaching,  he  was,  in  1660,  cast  into  Bedford 
jail,  where  he  remained  for  the  next  twelve  years. 

In  this  affair  we  see  his  moral  earnestness.  He  pre- 
ferred imprisonment,  banishment,  or  even  death  itself  to 
a  sacrifice  of  principle.  He  might  have  escaped  had  he 
chosen  to  do  so ;  but  under  the  circumstances  he  felt 
that  flight  would  have  been  cowardice.  In  the  words  of 
Froude,  "  He  was  the  first  Nonconformist  who  had  been 
marked  for  arrest.  If  he  flinched  after  he  had  been  sin- 
gled   out  by  name,  the  whole  body  of    his  congregation 


JOHN  BUNYAN.  1 8/ 

would  be  discouraged."  His  devotion  to  his  family  ren- 
dered his  imprisonment  a  still  greater  trial.  "  The  parting 
with  my  wife  and  poor  children,"  he  said,  "hath  often 
been  to  me,  in  this  place,  as  the  pulling  the  flesh  from  my 
bones ;  and  that  not  only  because  I  am  somewhat  too  fond 
of  these  mercies,  but  also  because  I  should  have  often 
brought  to  my  mind  the  many  hardships,  miseries,  and 
wants  that  my  poor  family  was  likewise  to  meet  with ; 
especially  my  poor  blind  child,  who  lay  nearer  my  heart 
than  all  I  had  beside." 

His  treatment  in  the  jail  has  been  a  matter  of  dispute. 
A  seventeenth-century  jail  was  at  the  best  a  very  unde- 
sirable place  of  abode.  At  times  he  was  closely  confined  ; 
but  for  the  most  part,  it  seems,  he  was  allowed  consid- 
erable freedom.  For  a  brief  space  he  was  even  permitted 
to  visit  his  family.  Not  being  able  to  carry  on  his  trade 
as  tinker,  he  learned  to  make  tags  for  boot-laces  as  a 
means  of  supporting  his  family. 

But  how  little  do  we  understand,  in  many  cases,  what  is 
best  for  us !  The  imprisonment  of  Bunyan  developed  his 
spiritual  insight  and  resulted  in  his  monumental  allegory, 
"The  Pilgrim's  Progress."  It  was  written  at  odd  mo- 
ments during  his  confinement,  with  no  other  books  of  ref- 
erence than  the  Bible  and  Fox's  "  Book  of  Martyrs."  The 
latter  gave  him  some  knowledge  of  history,  and  the  former 
"  is  a  literature  in  itself  — ■  the  rarest  and  richest  in  all  de- 
partments of  thought  or  imagination  which  exists."  There 
is  a  reference  to  his  prison,  strangely  free  from  bitterness, 
in  the  opening  sentence :  "  As  I  walked  through  the  wil- 
derness of  this  world,  I  Hghted  on  a  certain  place  where 
was  a  den,  and  laid  mc  down  in  that  place  to  sleep ;  and 


1 88  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

as  I  slept  I  dreamed  a  dream."  The  work  was  not  planned 
in  advance,  but  grew  under  his  hand,  as  he  tells  us  in  his 
introductory  apology  :  — 

"When  at  the  first  I  took  my  pen  in  hand 
Thus  for  to  write,  I  did  not  understand 
That  I  at  all  should  make  a  little  book 
In  such  a  mode  ;  nay,  I  had  undertook 
To  make  another ;  which,  when  almost  done, 
Before  I  was  aware,  I  this  begun." 

"  The  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  describes  a  journey  from  the 
City  of  Destruction  to  the  New  Jerusalem  ;  in  other  words, 
it  sets  forth  the  sorrows,  joys,  and  final  triumph  of  a  Chris- 
tian life.  It  is  Bunyan's  own  experience  in  allegory.  His 
faith  and  experience  were  back  of  it ;  and  it  stands,  as 
Carlyle  has  remarked,  the  shadow  of  what,  to  its  author, 
was  an  awful  fact.  Its  descriptions  are  remarkably  vivid ; 
its  characters  are  sharply  defined  ;  and  what  gives  it  per- 
ennial interest  is  its  fidelity  to  life.  Every  earnest  nature, 
no  matter  what  may  be  the  creed,  there  finds,  more  or  less 
fully,  its  own  experience.  Who  has  not  crossed  the 
Slough  of  Despond  .-*  Who  has  not  felt  the  burden  of 
unworthiness,  climbed  the  hill  of  Difficulty,  and  been  shut 
up  in  Doubting  Castle  .''  Who  has  not  also  rested  in  the 
Delectable  Mountains,  or  reached  for  moments,  all  too 
brief,  the  Land  of  Beulah  .-• 

Some  of  the  scenes  in  "  The  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  are  real- 
istic pictures  of  Bunyan's  times.  The  trial  of  Christian 
and  Faithful  in  Vanity  Fair  is  an  unexaggerated  repro- 
duction of  the  judicial  proceedings  in  England  during  the 
reign  of  Charles  II.  It  contains  touches  from  Bunyan's 
own    trial.       The    hard,    worldly-minded   characters,  with 


JOHN  BUNYAN.  1 89 

which  the  book  is  filled,  are  types  from  contemporary  life  — 
men  whom  Bunyan  had  actually  met.  This  fact  gives  the 
book  a  historic  interest  and  value  that  are  not  generally 
understood. 

"  The  Pilgrim's  Progress"  gradually  made  its  way  into 
popularity.  In  the  course  of  a  dozen  years  after  its  first  ap- 
pearance in  1678,  it  passed  through  many  editions  and  was 
widely  known  not  only  on  the  Continent,  but  also  in  the 
English  colonies  of  America.  -  Since  that  time  no  other 
book,  except  the  English  Bible,  has  been  so  widely  circu- 
lated. Not  long  after  its  first  appearance,  its  authorship  was 
questioned.  There  were  some  who  denied  that  the  igno- 
rant tinker  could  have  written  it.  To  silence  these  gain- 
sayers,  Bunyan  put  forth  the  second  part  of  the  book,  in 
which  the  pilgrimage  of  Christian's  wife  and  children  is 
described.  There  is  doubtless  comfort  in  the  thought  that 
they  were  not  left  behind  ;  but  Bunyan  had  at  first  worked 
the  vein  so  thoroughly  that  the  second  part  is  necessarily 
lacking  in  freshness  and  interest.  It  was  published  in 
1684. 

Bunyan  continued  to  work  the  rich  vein  he  had  discov- 
ered. His  next  work  was  the  "  Holy  War,"  which  takes 
very  high  rank  as  an  allegory.  "  If  'The  Pilgrim's  Prog- 
ress' did  not  exist,"  says  Macaulay,  "the  'Holy  War' 
would  be  the  best  allegory  that  ever  was  written."  It  may 
not  unjustly  be  described  as  a  prose  "  Paradise  Lost "  and 
"  Paradise  Regained  "  in  a  single  work.  It  treats  the  same 
subject  in  very  much  the  same  way.  It  describes  the  con- 
flict between  Shaddai  and  Diabolus  for  the  possession  of 
the  metropolis  of  the  world,  the  "  fair  and  delicate  town 
called  Mansoul."     It  is  sacred  history  —  the  creation   of 


190  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

man,  the  fall,  redemption,  and  the  establishment  of  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  —  in  the  form  of  allegory. 

In  the  "  Holy  War "  Bunyan  turned  to  good  account 
his  experience  as  a  soldier,  and  many  of  the  scenes  are 
vividly  conceived.  The  subject,  however,  does  not  lend 
itself  readily  to  allegorical  treatment,  inasmuch  as  it  lacks 
a  definite  dramatic  conclusion.  Notwithstanding  the  re- 
demption of  Mansoul,  somehow  "  Diabolonians "  still 
dwell  within  the  walls  and  disturb  the  victory.  No  doubt 
there  will  sometime  be  a  satisfactory  denouement  to  the 
tragic  conflict,  but  it  has  not  yet  become  a  reality. 

As  a  counterpart  to  Christian's  pilgrimage,  Bunyan  has 
portrayed  "  The  Life  and  Death  of  Mr.  Badman."  He 
drew,  as  before,  upon  his  observation  and  experience. 
"  Yea,"  he  exclaims,  "  I  think  I  may  truly  say  that  to  the 
best  of  my  remembrance  all  the  things  that  here  I  dis- 
course of,  I  mean  as  to  matter  of  fact,  have  been  acted 
upon  the  stage  of  the  world,  even  many  times  before  my 
eyes."  The  evil  habits  of  Mr.  Badman  in  his  youth  are 
precisely  those  which  Bunyan  ascribes  to  himself  in  his 
spiritual  autobiography.  "  The  Life  and  Death  of  Mr. 
Badman "  is  a  realistic  character  sketch,  which  leads 
through  Defoe  to  the  great  school  of  English  novels. 

Much  has  been  written  of  Bunyan's  style.  It  has  been 
extravagantly  lauded  and  contemptuously  depreciated. 
Judged  from  an  artificial  literary  point  of  view,  he  can 
hardly  be  said  to  have  a  style  at  all.  He  disdains  the 
artifices  of  rhetoric.  Deeply  in  earnest,  he  tells  his  story 
in  a  simple,  direct,  and  often  colloquial  way.  Yet,  in  its 
unadorned  simplicity,  it  often  rises  to  a  high  degree  of 
beauty  and  force.     He    aimed,   not   at    show,  but   effect. 


I 


JOHN  BUN Y AN.  19I 

"Words  easy  to  be  understood  do  often  hit  the  mark,"  he 
says  in  defence  of  his  homely  diction,  "  when  high  and 
learned  ones  do  only  pierce  the  air.  He  also  that  speaks 
to  the  weakest,  may  make  the  learned  understand  him  ; 
when  he  that  striveth  to  be  high  is  not  only  for  the  most 
part  understood  but  of  a  sort,  but  also  many  times  is 
neither  understood  by  them  nor  by  himself." 

Bunyan  had  the  power  of  clear  and  vivid  conception. 
Whether  he  describes  a  character,  a  landscape,  or  an 
event,  it  can  be  clearly  imaged  to  the  mind.  This  fact 
gives  a  picturesque  quality  to  his  work.  His  books  lend 
themselves  readily  to  illustration,  and  there  are  few 
pages  in  "The  Pilgrim's  Progress"  or  the  "Holy  War" 
that  would  not  furnish  subjects  for  an  artist.  Taken 
altogether,  Macaulay's  well-known  commendation  of  Bun- 
yan's  style,  though  it  has  been  censured  for  its  "  charac- 
teristic slapdash  extravagance,"  is  not  very  far  out  of  the 
way :  "  The  vocabulary  is  the  vocabulary  of  the  common 
people.  There  is  not  an  expression,  if  we  except  a  few 
technical  terms  of  theology,  which  would  puzzle  the  rudest 
peasant.  We  have  observed  several  pages  which  do  not 
contain  a  single  word  of  more  than  two  syllables.  Yet  no 
writer  has  said  more  exactly  what  he  meant  to  say.  For 
magnificence,  for  pathos,  for  vehement  exhortations,  for 
subtle  disquisition,  for  every  purpose  of  the  poet,  the 
orator,  and  the  divine,  this  homely  dialect,  the  dialect  of 
the  plain  workingmen,  was  sufficient." 

But  little  more  remains  to  be  said  of  Bunyan's  life. 
He -was  released  from  prison  in  1673  and  at  once  took 
charge  of  the  Baptist  congregation  at  Bedford  as  pastor. 
His   imprisonment,    his    writings,    and    his    power    as    a 


192  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

preacher  had  made  him  famous  throughout  England. 
Half  in  jest  and  half  in  earnest,  people  called  him  Bishop 
Bunyan.  Apart  from  his  writings,  his  life  passed  un- 
eventfully in  preaching  and  pastoral  visitation.  This  was 
the  happiest  period  of  his  life.  In  a  measure  it  brought 
him  compensation  for  his  previous  trials  ;  for  he  habitually 
dwelt  "in  his  own  Land  of  Beulah,  Doubting  Castle  out 
of  sight,  and  the  towers  and  minarets  of  Emmanuel  Land 
growing  nearer  and  clearer  as  the  days  went  on."  He 
frequently  preached  in  London  ;  and  "  if  there  was  but 
one  day's  notice,  the  meeting-house  was  crowded  to  over- 
flowing." Sometimes  he  had  to  be  lifted  to  the  pulpit 
stairs  over  the  heads  of  the  congregation.  But  his  popu- 
larity never  turned  his  head.  When  a  friend  once  compli- 
mented him  on  "  the  sweet  sermon  "  he  had  just  delivered, 
he  replied,  "  You  need  not  remind  me  of  that;  the  devil 
told  me  of  it  before  I  was  out  of  the  pulpit." 

While  Bunyan  was  intensely  earnest,  there  is  an  absence 
of  fanaticism  in  his  teaching.  His  imprisonment  did  not 
lead  him  into  a  spirit  of  bitterness  against  the  English 
government.  In  spite  of  the  harshness  of  his  beliefs,  he 
cherished  a  gentle  and  tolerant  spirit.  In  this  respect  he 
was  far  in  advance  of  his  age.  Contrary  to  the  usual 
practice  of  his  denomination,  he  advocated  communion 
with  other  Christians.  To  his  mind  sin  was  the  great 
heresy  ;  and  against  this,  though  indulgent  to  differences 
of  creed,  he  was  uniformly  and  zealously  intolerant. 

The  last  act  of  his  life  was  a  labor  of  love.  He  made  a 
long  journey  on  horseback  to  reconcile  a  father  who  had 
become  alienated  from  his  son.  He  successfully  accom- 
plished his  mission  ;  but  on  his  return,  he  was  drenched 


JOHN  BUN Y AN.  1 93 

with  rain.  When  he  reached  the  house  of  a  friend  in 
London,  he  was  seized  by  a  violent  fever,  and  in  ten  days 
breathed  his  last.     This  was  in  August,  1688. 

A  contemporary  who  knew  him  well  thus  speaks  of 
him :  "  He  appeared  in  countenance  to  be  of  a  stern  and 
rough  temper ;  but  in  his  conversation,  mild  and  affable, 
not  given  to  loquacity  or  much  discourse  in  company, 
unless  some  urgent  occasion  required  it ;  observing  never 
to  boast  of  himself,  or  his  parts,  but  rather  seem  low  in 
his  own  eyes  and  submit  himself  to  the  judgment  of 
others  ;  abhorring  lying  and  swearing,  being  just  in  all  that 
lay  in  his  power  to  his  word ;  not  seeming  to  revenge 
injuries,  loving  to  reconcile  differences,  and  make  friend- 
ships with  all.  He  had  a  sharp,  quick  eye,  accomplished 
with  an  excellent  discerning  of  persons,  being  of  good 
judgment  and  quick  wit." 


FIRST    CRITICAL    PERIOD. 


^  PRINCIPAL   WRITERS.        ,_  /  ^7  ^    . 

/^TaristsT^^ Jblin  Evel^   (1620-1706).     ^liscellaneous  writer,  but 
chiefly  rememberecl  torlns  "Diary." 
J^-Ssinuel  Pepys  (1633-1703).     His  '•  Diary'"  covers  the  period  1660- 
1669,  iirs't  published  in  1825. 

Philosophers,  ^^^^^r  Isaac  Newton  (1642-1727).  Author  of  sev- 
eral works,  the  chief  of  which  is  ''  Principia  Philosophiae  Naturalis 
Mathematica "'  ( 1 687) . 

Robert  Boyle  (1627-1691).  A  distinguished  member  of  the  Roval 
Society ;  ''  the  most  faithful,  the  most  patient,  the  most  successful  dis- 
ciple who  carried  forward  the  experimental  philosophy  of  Bacon." 

John  Locke  (1632- 1704).  Author  of  two  "Treatises  on  Govern- 
ment'' (1690),  "  Thoughts  Concerning  Education"  (1693),  "  Essay  on 
the  Human  Understanding"  (1690),  etc.     • 

Thomas  Hobbes  (1588-1679).  Author  of"  Human  Nature"  (1650), 
"Leviathan"  (1651),  "The  Behemoth"  (1678). 

Theologians. — Joseph  Butler  (1692-1752).  Bishop  of  Durham, 
and  author  of  "  The  Analogy  of  Religion  to  the  Constitution  and 
Course  of  Nature"  (1736). 

Gilbert  Burnet  (1643-1715).  Bishop  of  Salisbury,  and  author  of 
the  "  History  of  the  Reformation  "  (1681),  "  Life  of  Sir  Matthew  Hale  " 
(1682),  etc. 

Ralph  Cudworth  ( 1617-1688).  Author  of  "  True  Intellectual  System 
of  the  Universe"  (1678). 

John  Tillotson  (i  630-1694).  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  author  of 
"  The  Rule  of  Faith  "  (1666),  and  "  Sermons." 

Jeremy  Collier  (1650-1726).  Nonconformist  clergyman,  and  au- 
thor of  various  works,  of  which  the  best  known  is  "A  Short  View  of 
the  Profaneness  and  Immorality  of  tlie  Stage"  (1698).  His  vigorous 
attacks  led  to  a  purification  of  tlie  theatre. 

195 


Jhf 


196         '  ENGX.ISH  LITERATURE.      /  7^  t^ 

Novelists.  /ydPaniel  Defoe  (1663-1731).     Voluminous  author,  best 
"^     -''    known  for  his  "  Robinson  Crusoe "  (1719),  "Moll  Flanders"  (1721), 
"Journal  of  the  Plague  "  (1722),  etc. 

amuel  Richardson  (1689-1761).     First  novelist  of  love,  author  of 

Pamela"    (1740),    ''Clarissa   Harlowe "    (1749),   and    "Sir   Charles 

Grandison  "  (1754),  written  to  exhibit  an  ideal  hero. 

/.'  Henry  Fielding  (1707-1754).     Author  of  "Joseph  Andrews"  (1742), 

"Jonathan  Wild"  (1743),  "Tom  Jones'"  (1749),  "Amelia"  (1751),  etc. 

-Dramatists.  —  William  Wycherly  (1640-17 15).    Best  drama,  "  The 
Country  Wife"  (1675). 

William  Congreve  (1670-1729).  Principal  piece,  "Love  for  Love" 
(1695). 

George  Farquhar  (1678-1707).  Most  popular  work,  "The  Beaux's 
Stratagem"  (1707). 

Miscellaneous  Prose.  —  Sir  William  Temple  (1628-1699).  States- 
man, and  author  of  "Ancient  and  Modern  Learning"  (1692). 
'^y  Sir  Richard  Steele  (1671-1729).  Author  of  "The  Chi'istian  Hero" 
(1701),  several  comedies,  "The  Funeral,  or  Grief  k  la  Mode"  (1702), 
"The  Tender  Husband"  (1703),  founder  of  the  Taller,  and  distin- 
guished essayist. 

Poets.  —  Samuel  Butler  (161 2-1680).  Author  of  "Hudibras" 
(1662-1678),  a  mock-heroic  poem  ridiculing  the  Puritans. 

James  Thomson  (1700-1748).  Author  of  "  The  Seasons"  (1726- 
1730),  several  dramas,  and  "The  Castle  of  Indolence  "  (1748),  a  polished 
poem  in  Spenserian  verse. 

>'  Edward  Young  (1681-1765).  Royal  chaplain,  and  author  of  "The 
Love  of  Fame"  (1725-1728),  a  series  of  satires,  and  "The  Complaint, 
or  Night  Thoughts"  (1742-1746),  on  which  his  fame  chiefly  rests. 

GREAT    REPRESENTATIVE    WRITERS. 

John  Dryden.  I^Alexander  Pope. 

Joseph  Addison.  /..Jonathan  Swift. 


V. 

FIRST   CRITICAL   PERIOD. 

(1660-1745.) 

Puritan  extreme  —  Reaction  —  French  influence  —  Natural  science  — 
Transition  —  Greater  toleration  —  Deism  —  Augustan  Age  —  Eng- 
lish influence  —  Social  condition  —  Woman  —  Witchcraft  —  Rise 
of  Methodism  —  Reading  public  —  Clubs  —  Periodicals  —  Diarists, 
Evelyn  and  Pepys  —  John  Locke  —  Steele  —  Rise  of  the  novel  — 
Defoe  —  Richardson  —  Fielding  —  Samuel  Butler —  James  Thomson 
—  Edward  Young  —  John  Dryden  —  Joseph  Addison  —  Alexan- 
der Pope  —  Jonathan  Swift. 

This  period  extends  from  the  Restoration  to  the  death 
of  Pope  and  Swift.  It  was  ushered  in  by  a  violent 
reaction. 

With  all  its  moral  earnestness  and  love  of  freedom, 
Puritanism  had  degenerated  into  a  false  and  forbidding 
asceticism.  It  condemned  many  innocent  pleasures.  It 
clothed  morality  and  religion  in  a  garb  of  cant.  The 
claims  of  the  physical  and  intellectual  parts  of  man  w:ere, 
under  the  influence  of  a  terrific  theology,  sacrificed  to  his 
spiritual  interests.  All  spontaneous  joy  and  gayety  were 
banished  from  life.  The  Puritan's  steps  were  slow ;  his 
face  was  elongated ;  his  tone  had  a  nasal  quality.  He 
gave  his  children  names  drawn  from  the  Scriptures ;  and 
shutting  his  eyes  to  the  beauties  of  the  world  about  him, 
and  forgetting  the  infinite  love  of  God,  he  lived  perpetu- 
ally in  the  shadow  of  divine  wrath.     His  religion,  at  war 

197 


198  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

with  nature  and  the  gospel,   degenerated  into  fanaticism 
and  weighed  heavily  upon  the  life  of  the  English  nation. 

With  the  Restoration,  Puritanism  was  overthrown.  The 
Royalist  party,  with  its  sharp  contrasts  to  Puritan  princi- 
ples, again  came  into  power.  The  result  in  its  moral 
effects  was  dreadful.  The  stream  of  license,  which  had 
been  held  in  check  for  years,  burst  forth  with  fearful 
momentum.  The  reign  of  the  flesh  set  in.  Virtue  was 
held  to  savor  of  Puritanism ;  duty  was  thought  to  smack 
of  fanaticism ;  and  integrity,  patriotism,  and  honor  were 
regarded  as  mere  devices  for  self-aggrandizement.  Under 
the  lead  of  Charles  II.,  himself  a  notorious  libertine,  the 
court  became  a  scene  of  shameless  and  almost  incredible 
debauchery.  The  effect  upon  literature  can  be  easily 
imagined.  It  debased  the  moral  tone  of  poetry  and  the 
drama  to  a  shocking  degree.  As  Dryden  tells  us  in  one 
of  his  epilogues  :  — 

"  The  poets  who  must  live  by  courts,  or  starve, 
Were  proud  so  good  a  government  to  serve  ; 
And,  mixing  with  buffoons  and  pimps  profane, 
Tainted  the  stage,  for  some  small  snip  of  gain." 

But  there  are  other  respects  in  which  the  Restoration 
affected  literature.  Charles  II.  returned  to  England  with 
French  companions  and  French  tastes.  It  was  but  natu- 
ral, therefore,  that  English  literature  should  be  influenced 
by  French  models.  It  was  the  Augustan  Age  of  literature 
in  France.  Louis  XIV.,  the  most  powerful  monarch  in 
Europe,  had  gathered  about  him  the  best  literary  talent  of 
the  age.  Corneille,  Moliere,  and  Racine  gave  great  splen- 
dor to  dramatic  poetry,  and  Boileau  developed  the  art  of 


FIRST   CRITICAL  PERIOD.  1 99 

criticism.  But  the  French  drama,  besides  following  classi- 
cal models  in  regard  to  the  unities,  imposed  the  burden  of 
rhymed  couplets  upon  dramatic  composition.  It  was  in 
obedience  to  the  wish  of  Charles  that  rhyme  was  first 
introduced  into  the  English  drama.  Through  French  in- 
fluence the  course  of  the  drama,  as  it  had  been  developed 
by  the  great  Elizabethans,  was  seriously  interrupted. 

But  in  respect  to  literary  criticism,  the  influence  of 
France  was  more  salutary.  Boileau  had  displayed  great 
critical  acumen  in  estimating  French  authors,  and  had  laid 
down  correct  principles  by  which  to  judge  literary  compo- 
sition. The  art  of  criticism  took  root  in  England.  Dry- 
den,  whom  Johnson  calls  the  father  of  English  criticism,  sat 
at  the  feet  of  his  great  French  contemporary,  and  in  his 
numerous  prefaces  exhibited  admirable  judgment  in  weigh- 
ing the  productions  both  of  ancient  and  modern  times. 

Pope,  the  greatest  writer  of  the  period,  likewise  followed 
French  models.  The  characteristics  of  the  new  criticism, 
which  gradually  fashioned  a  corresponding  literature,  were 
clearness,  simpUcity,  and  good  sense. 

The  Restoration  gave  a  new  impulse  to  natural  science. 
Charles  II.  was  himself  something  of  a  chemist,  and  even 
the  profligate  Buckingham  varied  his  debaucheries  with 
experiments  in  his  laboratory.  In  1662  the  Royal  Society 
was  founded,  and  for  half  a  century  inventions  and  discov- 
eries in  science  followed  one  another  in  rapid  succession. 
The  national  observatory  at  Greenwich  was  established. 
The  spirit  of  investigation  showed  great  vigor.  H alley 
studied  the  tides,  comets,  and  terrestrial  magnetism.  Boyle 
improved  the  air-pump  and  founded  experimental  chemis- 
try.    Mineralogy,   zoology,  and    botany  either   had   their 


200  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

beginning  or  made  noteworthy  progress  at  this  time.  It 
was  the  age  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton. 

But  this  period  was  one  of  ferment  and  transition.  Old 
faiths  in  politics,  philosophy,  and  reUgion  were  being  cast 
aside.  Tradition  and  custom  were  summoned  before  the 
bar  of  reason.  "  From  the  moment  of  the  Restoration," 
says  Green,  "  we  find  ourselves  all  at  once  among  the 
great  currents  of  thought  and  activity  which  have  gone 
on  widening  and  deepening  from  that  time  to  this.  The 
England  around  us  becomes  our  England,  an  England 
whose  chief  forces  are  industry  and  science,  the  love  of 
popular  freedom  and  of  law ;  an  England  which  presses 
steadily  forward  to  a  larger  social  justice  and  equality,  and 
which  tends  more  and  more  to  bring  every  custom  and  tra- 
dition, religious,  intellectual,  and  political,  to  the  test  of 
pure  reason."  The  belief  in  the  divine  right  of  kings 
became  a  thing  of  the  past.  With  the  Revolution  of  1688, 
which  placed  William  of  Orange  on  the  throne^  the  pro- 
longed conflict  between  the  people  and  the  king  came  to 
an  end.  The  executive  supremacy  was  transferred  from 
the  crown  to  the  House  of  Commons. 

During  the  latter  part  of  this  period  the  three  great 
religious  parties  —  Anglicans,  Dissenters,  and  Roman 
Catholics  —  grew  somewhat  more  tolerant.  The  severity 
of  the  law  was  in  a  measure  relaxed. 

Within  the  Church  of  England  there  arose  a  class  of 
divines  who,  because  of  their  tolerant  views,  were  stigma- 
tized as  "  latitudinarians."  Avoiding  the  scholasticism  of 
the  preceding  age,  they  studied  Scripture  with  a  genial 
spirit.  The  evils  of  strife,  as  well  as  a  sense  of  danger 
from  infidelity,  made  them  desire  Christian  unity,  which 


FIRST   CRITICAL  PERIOD.  201 

they  recognized  as  the  normal  condition  of  the  church. 
Among  the  most  distinguished  of  these  broad  church- 
men were  Ralph  Cudworth,  Henry  More,  and  John 
Tillotson. 

A  still  more  important  movement  in  theology  was  the 
rise  of  Deism,  which  owed  its  prevalence  to  several  co- 
operative causes.  As  we  have  seen,  there  was  a  general 
tendency  to  break  away  from  the  restraints  of  authority 
in  every  department  of  thought.  The  divisions  and  ani- 
mosities of  the  church  tended  to  unsettle  the  faith  of  many 
in  the  teachings  of  Christianity.  And  above  all,  perhaps, 
the  license  of  the  age  sought  to  emancipate  itself  from  the 
restraints  of  divine  law. 

In  its  progress  Deism  showed  a  rapid  declension.  It 
began  with  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  who  reduced  reli- 
gion to  five  points:  i,  that  there  is  a  God;  2,  that  he  is 
to  be  worshipped  ;  3,  that  piety  and  virtue  are  the  princi- 
pal parts  of  this  worship ;  4,  that  men  should  repent  and 
forsake  sin ;  and  5,  that  good  will  be  rewarded  and  sin 
punished.  This  scheme  of  doctrine  represents  Deism  at 
its  best.  The  writings  of  the  deists,  among  whom  may  be 
mentioned  Hobbes,  Blount,  and  Lord  Bolingbroke,  natu- 
rally called  forth  many  replies.  The  controversy,  which 
was  protracted  far  into  the  eighteenth  century,  was  con- 
ducted with  great  ability  on  both  sides.  Among  the  de- 
fenders of  Christianity,  with  whom  ultimately  remained 
the  victory,  were  Cudworth,  John  Locke  the  philosopher, 
and  Joseph  Butler,  the  author  of  the  famous  "Analogy." 

About  the  time  Queen  Anne  ascended  the  English  throne 
in  1702,  English  literature,  under  the  moulding  influence 
from  France,  began  to  assume  a  more  elegant  form.     The 


/ 


202  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

first  half  of  the  eighteenth  century  has  sometimes  been 
characterized  as  the  Augustan  Age.  It  has  been  thought, 
not  without  some  reason,  to  resemble  the  flourishing  period 
of  Roman  literature  under  Augustus,  when  Ovid,  Horace, 
Cicero,  and  Virgil  produced  their  immortal  works.  The 
names  of  Addison,  Pope,  and  Swift  are  not  unworthy  to 
be  placed  side  by  side  with  the  proudest  names  in  the 
literature  of  Rome. 

In  this  period  the  political  principles  of  the  Revolution 
became  predominant.  Absolutism  gave  place  to  constitu- 
tional government.  The  Tories  and  the  Whigs  became 
well-marked  parties  and  in  turn  succeeded  to  the  govern- 
ment. Corrupt  political  methods  were  frequently  resorted 
to  in  order  to  gain  party  ascendency.  Walpole  boasted 
that  every  man  had  his  price.  An  unselfish  patriotism  was 
too  often  looked  on  as  youthful  enthusiasm,  which  the  cool- 
ness of  age  would  cure.  Leading  statesmen  led  impure 
and  dissipated  fives. 

Yet  in  spite  of  these  conditions,  England  attained  to 
great  influence  in  continental  affairs.  Victory  attended 
her  arms  on  the  Continent  under  the  leadership  of  Marl- 
borough. The  battles  of  Blenheim,  RamilHes,  Oudenarde, 
and  Malplaquet  brought  the  power  of  Louis  XIV.  to  the 
verge  of  destruction.  The  balance  of  power  was  restored 
to  Europe.  The  union  of  England  and  Scotland  was  ef- 
fected in  1707,  and  English  sovereigns  henceforth  reigned 
over  the  kingdom  of  Great  Britam.  The  power  of  English 
thought,  as  well  as  of  English  arms,  was  felt  abroad. 
Buffon  found  inspiration  in  its  science ;  Montesquieu 
studied  the  institutions  of  England  with  great  care  ;  and 
Rousseau  borrowed    many  of  his  thoughts  from   Locke. 


FIRST   CRITICAL  PERIOD.  203 

The  English  people  once  more  became  conscious  of  their 
strength,  and  felt  the  uplifting  power  of  great  hopes  and 
splendid  purposes. 

In  several  particulars  the  state  of  society  does  not  pre- 
sent a  pleasing  picture.  Education  was  confined  to  a  com- 
paratively limited  circle.  Addison  complained  that  there 
were  families  in  which  not  a  single  person  could  spell, 
"unless  it  be  by  chance  the  butler  or  one  of  the  footmen." 
Cock-fighting  was  the  favorite  sport  of  schoolboys,  and 
bull-baiting  twice  a  week  delighted  the  populace  of  Lon- 
don. The  theatres  were  not  yet  fully  redeemed  from  the 
licentiousness  of  the  preceding  period.  Gambling  was  a 
common  vice  ;  and,  what  appears  strange  to  us,  the  women 
of  the  time  showed  a  strong  passion  for  this  excitement. 
Speaking  of  Will's  Coffee-house,  the  Tatler  says:  "This 
place  is  very  much  altered  since  Mr.  Dryden  frequented  it. 
Where  you  used  to  see  songs,  epigrams,  and  satires  in  the 
hands  of  every  one  you  met,  you  have  now  only  a  pack  of 
cards."  Fashionable  hours  became  later,  and  a  consider- 
able part  of  the  night  was  frequently  given  to  dissipation. 
Drunkenness  increased  with  the  introduction  of  gin.  The 
police  was  not  able  to  control  the  lawless  classes,  and  in 
the  cities  mobs  not  infrequently  vented  their  rage  in  con- 
flagration and  pillage.  When  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  as 
portrayed  by  Addison,  went  to  the  theatre,  he  armed  his 
servants  with  cudgels  for  protection. 

Woman  had  not  yet  found  her  true  sphere ;  and,  in 
wealthy  or  fashionable  circles,  her  time  was  devoted  chiefly 
to  dress,  frivoKty,  and  scandal.  In  the  "  Rape  of  the 
Lock  "  Pope  gives  us  a  gUmpse  of  conversation  in  court 
circles :  — 


204  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

"In  various  talk  th'  instructive  hours  they  pass'd, 
Who  gave  the  ball,  or  paid  the  visit  last ; 
One  speaks  the  glory  of  the  British  queen, 
And  one  describes  a  charming  Indian  screen; 
A  third  interprets  motions,  looks,  and  eyes ; 
At  every  word  a  reputation  dies  ; 
Snuff,  or  the  fan,  supplies  each  pause  of  chat, 
With  singing,  laughing,  ogling,  and  all  that." 

Belief  in  witchcraft  had  not  entirely  passed  away.  In 
1 71 2  a  witch  was  condemned  to  death;  and  her  prosecu- 
tion was  conducted,  not  by  ignorant  rustics,  but  by  a 
learned  author  and  an  educated  clergyman.  It  is  in  keep- 
ing with  the  belief  of  the  time  to  find  Sir  Roger  de  Cover- 
ley  puzzled  over  the  character  of  Moll  White  and  piously 
advising  her  "  to  avoid  all  communication  with  the  devil, 
and  never  to  hurt  any  of  her  neighbor's  cattle."  Super- 
stition was  common,  and  people  of  every  class  had  faith  in 
omens.  Religion  was  at  a  low  ebb.  Scepticism  was  ex- 
tensively prevalent,  especially  among  the  higher  classes, 
and  many  of  the  clergy  thought  more  of  the  pleasures  of 
the  chase  than  of  the  care  of  souls.  "  Every  one  laughs," 
said  Montesquieu,  "  if  one  talks  of  religion." 

But  there  is  also  a  more  favorable  side  to  the  social 
condition  of  England  during  this  period  —  some  influences 
that  contain  the  promise  of  a  brighter  day.  In  spite  of 
the  low  state  of  Christianity,  earnest  men,  like  Doddridge, 
Watts,  and  William  Law,  were  not  wanting  to  inculcate  a 
genuine  piety.  The  rise  of  Methodism  under  John  Wesley 
and  George  Whitefield  exerted  a  salutary  influence  upon 
the  religious  life  of  England.  These  great  preachers,  im- 
pressed by  the  realities  of  sin,  redemption,  and  eternal  life, 


FIRST  CRITICAL   PERIOD.  205 

urged  these  truths  with  surpassing  eloquence  upon  the 
multitudes  that  flocked  to  hear  them.  Before  the  death  of 
John  Wesley  his  followers  numbered  a  hundred  thousand, 
and  the  Established  Church  was  awakened  to  a  new  zeal. 

The  great  middle  class  of  England  came  into  greater 
prominence  and  gradually  formed  a  reading  public.  Lit- 
erature became  independent  of  patronage.  It  did  not  pre- 
tend to  deal  with  the  great  problems  of  human  thought, 
but  as  a  rule  confined  itself  to  criticism,  satire,  wit,  the 
minor  morals,  and  the  small  proprieties  of  life.  But 
through  French  and  classic  influences,  these  subjects  were 
treated  with  a  lightness  of  touch  and  elegance  of  form  that 
have  never  been  surpassed. 

The  clubs  became  an  important  feature  of  social  life 
in  London.  Coffee-houses  multiplied,  till  in  1708  they 
reached  the  number  of  three  thousand.  They  became 
centres  for  the  diffusion  of  intelligence.  Here  the  lead- 
ing political,  literary,  and  social  questions  of  the  day  were 
discussed. 

Periodical  publications  became  an  important  factor  in 
the  intellectual  life  of  England.  In  17 14  no  fewer  than 
fourteen  papers  were  published  in  London.  The  princi- 
pal periodicals  were  the  Tatlcr,  Spectator,  and  Guardian, 
which  were  conducted  in  a  manner  not  only  to  refine  the 
taste,  but  also  to  improve  the  morals.  Made  up  of  brief, 
entertaining,  and  often  elegant  essays,  and  treating  of 
every  subject  from  epic  poems  to  female  toilets,  they  came 
to  be  welcomed  at  the  club-house  and  breakfast-table,  and 
exerted  a  wide  and  salutary  influence  upon  the  thought 
and  life  of  the  country. 

Before  entering  upon  a  consideration  of  the  great  repre- 


206  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

sentative  writers  of  this  period,  there  are  a  few  others  that 
deserve  mention.  John  Evelyn  and  Samuel  Pepys  were 
two  diarists,  who  have  earned  the  thanks  of  posterity  for 
the  minute  glimpses  they  give  of  the  manners  of  the  time. 
They  both  occupied  high  positions ;  and  their  daily  entries 
furnish  us  small  details,  not  only  of  much  interest,  but  of 
historic  value.  As  their  diaries  were  not  intended  for  pub- 
lication, they  present  unvarnished  and  often  unflattering 
facts.  The  luxury,  gambling,  and  licentiousness  of  the 
court  of  Charles  II.  are  disclosed  in  the  plainest  terms. 
The  following  extract  from  Pepys,  who  was  far  from  a 
model  character,  gives  an  idea  of  the  amusements  of  the 
time:  "Dec.  21.  To  Shoe  Lane  to  see  a  cock-fight  at 
a  new  pit  there,  a  spot  I  never  was  at  in  my  life ;  but, 
Lord !  to  see  the  strange  variety  of  people,  from  parlia- 
ment men,  to  the  poorest  'prentices,  bakers,  brewers, 
butchers,  draymen  and  what  not,  and  all  these  fellows 
one  with  another  cursing  and  betting.  I  soon  had  enough 
of  it." 

One  of  the  greatest  of  all  English  philosophers  was 
John  Locke.  He  superintended  the  education  of  the  Earl 
of  Shaftesbury's  son  —  an  experience  which  developed  the 
independent  views  contained  in  "  Some  Thoughts  Con- 
cerning Education."  His  educational  ideal  was  "  a  sound 
mind  in  a  sound  body,"  and  he  strongly  inveighed  against 
the  unpractical  character  of  the  system  then  in  vogue. 
He  deservedly  ranks  among  educational  reformers.  In 
1689  he  published  a  "Letter  on  Toleration"  (afterward 
followed  by  several  others),  in  which  he  maintained  that 
charity,  meekness,  and  good-will  toward  all  mankind  rather 
than  zeal  for  dogma  and  ceremonies  were  the  true  marks 


i 


FIRST   CRITICAL  PERIOD.  20/ 

of  Christian  character.  The  work,  however,  through  which 
he  has  exerted  the  greatest  influence  is  his  "  Essay  Con- 
cerning the  Human  Understanding"  —  a  profound  treatise 
that  marks  an  epoch  in  the  history  of  philosophy.  Its 
object,  as  explained  in  the  introduction,  was  "to  inquire 
into  the  origin,  certainty,  and  extent  of  human  knowledge, 
together  with  the  grounds  and  degrees  of  belief,  opinion, 
and  assent." 

Sir  Richard  Steele,  the  friend  of  Addison,  led  a  some- 
what wayward  life.  He  left  Oxford  without  taking  his 
degree,  and  enlisted  in  the  Horse  Guards  —  an  impru- 
dence that  cost  him  an  inheritance.  He  rose  to  the  rank 
of  captain,  but  was  gay,  reckless,  and  dissipated.  His 
naturally  tender  heart  was  constantly  overcome  by  his 
imperious  appetites,  and  his  Hfe  presents  a  series  of 
alternate  repentance  and  dissipation.  In  1701  he  wrote 
the  "Christian  Hero,"  for  the  purpose  of  impressing  the 
principles  of  virtue  upon  his  own  heart.  Though  it  is 
filled  with  lofty  sentiment,  it  remained  without  serious 
effect  upon  the  author's  life.  Then  followed  in  annual 
succession  several  moderate  comedies.  At  length  ap- 
pointed Gazetteer,  a  position  that  gave  him  a  monopoly 
of  official  news,  he  began  the  Tat/er,  called  Addison  to 
his  aid,  and  was  eclipsed  by  his  coadjutor. 

It  was  during  this  period  that  the  modern  novel  had  its 
origin.  Before  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
several  works  of  fiction  were  produced  that  have  gained 
a  permanent  place  in  our  literature.  Avoiding  the  highly 
colored  and  extravagant  elements  of  Elizabethan  romance, 
they  portray  the  scenes  and  characters  of  everyday  life. 
The  founder  of  the  English  novel  was  Daniel   Defoe,  a 


208  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

varied  and  prolific  writer,  who  in  some  of  his  views  was  in 
advance  of  his  age.  In  1698  he  published  an  "Essay  on 
Projects,"  in  which  he  advocated  the  estabUshment  of 
insurance  companies,  savings  banks  for  the  poor,  and  col- 
leges for  women.  "  A  woman  well-bred  and  well-taught," 
he  said,  "  furnished  with  the  additional  accomplishments 
of  knowledge  and  behavior,  is  a  creature  without  compari- 
son." His  "True-born  Englishman,"  a  poetical  satire  in 
defence  of  King  WiUiam,  appeared  in  1701,  and  eighty 
thousand  copies  were  sold  on  the  streets  of  London. 
What  it  lacks  in  poetry  it  makes  up  in  homely  vigor. 
The  opening  lines  are  well  known:  — 

"  Wherever  God  erects  a  house  of  prayer, 
The  devil  ahvays  builds  a  chapel  there ; 
And  'twill  be  found  upon  examination, 
The  latter  has  the  largest  congregation." 

Defoe's  "Robinson  Crusoe"  appeared  in  1619  and  in- 
stantly became  popular.  Few  other  English  books  have 
been  more  widely  read.  "Nobody,"  said  Johnson,  "ever 
laid  it  down  without  wishing  it  longer."  It  was  suggested 
by  the  real  experience  of  Alexander  Selkirk,  and  describes 
the  life  and  adventures  of  Robinson  Crusoe,  who  lived  for 
twenty-eight  years  on  an  uninhabited  island  off  the  coast 
of  South  America.  Encouraged  by  the  success  of  "  Rob- 
inson Crusoe,"  the  author  wrote  other  fictitious  narratives, 
among  which  are  "  Moll  Flanders,"  "  Captain  Singleton," 
and  the  "  History  of  the  Great  Plague."  All  possess  the 
charm  of  simplicity  of  style  and  air  of  truth. 

Samuel  Richardson  deserves  to  be  considered  the  first 
great  English  novelist.     At  first  a  printer,  he  stumbled,  at 


FIRST  CRITICAL   PERIOD.  209 

the  age  of  fifty,  on  the  Hterary  work  that  was  to  make  him 
famous.  It  was  suggested  to  him  that  he  should  prepare 
"  a  little  volume  of  letters,  in  common  style,  on  such  sub- 
jects as  might  be  of  use  to  those  country  readers  who 
were  unable  to  indite  for  themselves."  In  undertaking 
the  work,  the  happy  thought  occurred  to  him  to  embody 
in  a  series  of  letters  an  interesting  story  he  had  heard 
from  a  friend  years  before.  The  result  was  his  first  novel 
"  Pamela,  or  Virtue  Rewarded."  Judged  by  present  stand- 
ards, the  work  is  prolix  and  tedious  ;  but  when  it  appeared 
in  1740,  it  was  something  new  and  had  a  widespread  pop- 
ularity. It  was  followed  a  few  years  later  by  "  Clarissa 
Harlowe,"  by  common  consent  Richardson's  masterpiece. 
"  This  work  raised  the  fame  of  its  author  to  its  height," 
said  Sir  Walter  Scott,  "  and  no  work  had  appeared  before, 
perhaps  none  has  appeared  since,  containing  such  direct 
appeals  to  the  passions  in  a  manner  so  irresistible." 

Henry  Fielding  —  lawyer,  journalist,  dramatist  —  had 
abundant  opportunity  to  observe  the  varied  phases  of  Eng- 
lish life.  With  abounding  vitality  and  humor,  he  described 
men  as  he  saw  them.  He  was  an  eighteenth-century  real- 
ist. The  scenes  he  presents  are  often  coarse  and  low;  but 
these  faults  are  to  be  imputed  less  to  the  painter  than  to 
the  age  he  describes.  When  "  Pamela"  appeared  in  1740, 
Fielding  did  not  sympathize  with  what  he  regarded  as  its 
ostentatious  morality  and  excessive  sentimentalism.  He 
conceived  the  idea  of  a  caricature ;  and,  accordingly,  in 
1742,  he  produced  his  "Joseph  Andrews."  It  abounded 
in  humor,  exuberant  feeling,  and  overflowing  benevolence, 
and  was  received  with  scarcely  less  favor  than  the  work  it 
was  designed  to  ridicule. 


2IO  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

In  1749,  in  the  full  maturity  of  his  powers,  Fielding 
pubUshed  his  ablest  work,  "  Tom  Jones."  The  scene  of 
the  story  is  laid  partly  in  the  country,  and  partly  in  the 
city,  and  taken  altogether  the  work  may  be  regarded  as  an 
epic  of  English  life.  The  characters  have  a  singular  real- 
ity. It  is  framed  on  a  large  scale  and  introduces  a  great 
many  types  of  character.  In  its  personages,  manners, 
amusements,  tone  of  thought,  and  forms  of  expression,  it 
introduces  us  better  than  any  history  to  the  England  of  a 
century  and  a  half  ago.  The  author  claimed  superiority 
over  professed  historians.  "In  their  productions,"  he  de- 
clared, "  nothing  is  true  but  the  names  and  dates,  whereas 
in  mine  everything  is  true  but  the  names  and  dates."  The 
style  of  "Tom  Jones,"  as  in  all  Fielding's  novels,  is  excel- 
lent ;  and  what  gives  the  book  a  peculiar  charm,  is  the  dis- 
interested, genial  spirit  —  a  little  too  indulgent,  perhaps,  to 
the  weakness  of  our  nature  —  with  which  he  seems  to  look 
on  the  scenes  he  portrays. 

Among  the  secondary  poets  to  be  mentioned,  the  first  in 
time,  as  also  in  popularity,  was  Samuel  Butler,  who  gave 
expression  to  the  great  anti-Puritanic  reaction  of  the  Res- 
toration. His  "  Hudibras,"  the  first  part  of  which  appeared 
in  1662,  is  a  humorous  satire  against  the  Puritans,  and  in 
its  day  was  exceedingly  popular.     Of  Charles  II.  it  was 

said  that  — 

"  He  never  ate,  nor  drank,  nor  slept, 

But  Hudibras  still  near  him  kept." 

The  hero  of  the  satire  is  a  Puritan  justice  of  the  peace, 
who,  with  his  servant  Ralph,  sallied  forth,  like  another  Don 
Quixote,  to  put  an  end  to  the  amusements  and  follies  of  the 
people.     Of  course  he  came  to  grief.     But  the  interest  of 


FIRST   CRITICAL  PERIOD.  211 

the  poem  is  not  in  the  story,  but  in  its  humorous  descrip- 
tions and  electric  flashes  of  wit.  Few  other  books  have 
been  oftener  quoted.     Here  is  a  description  of  Sir  Hudi- 

bras: —         ,,  .    ,    . 

"  He  was  in  logic  a  great  critic, 

Profoundly  skilled  in  analytic  ; 

He  could  distinguish  and  divide 

A  hair  'twixt  south  and  south-west  side ; 

On  either  which  he  would  dispute. 

Confute,  change  hands,  and  still  confute." 

The  following  are  well-known  couplets  :  — 

''  For  all  a  rhetorician's  rules  ^ 

Teach  nothing  but  to  name  his  tools." 

"He  that  complies  against  his  will, 
Is  of  the  same  opinion  still." 

"  And,  like  a  lobster  boiled,  the  morn 
From  black  to  red  began  to  turn." 

"Compound  for  sins  they  are  inclined  to, 
By  damning  those  they  have  no  mind  to." 

James  Thomson  has  been  justly  called  the  poet  of 
nature.  His  "Seasons,"  which  appeared  between  1726 
and  1730,  possessed  the  charm  of  novelty.  "The  fresh 
treatment  of  a  simple  theme,"  to  use  the  words  of  Professor 
Minto,  "  the  warm  poetical  coloring  of  commonplace  inci- 
dents, the  freedom  and  irregularity  of  the  plan,  the  boldness 
of  the  descriptions,  the  manly  and  sincere  sentiment,  the 
rough  vigor  of  the  verse,  took  by  surprise  a  generation 
accustomed  to  witty  satire  and  burlesque,  refined  diction, 
translations  from  the  classics,  themes  valued  in  proportion 
to  their  remoteness  from  vulgar  life."  Thomson  looked 
upon  nature  with  a  poet's  eyes.     If  he  learned  from  books. 


212  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

he  learned  also  from  observation.     There  is  truth  in  the 
lines  describing  his  poetical  life  :  — 

"  I  solitary  court 
The  inspiring  breeze,  and  meditate  the  book 
Of  Nature,  ever  open  ;  aiming  tlience, 
Warm  from  the  heart,  to  pour  tlie  moral  song.'" 

His  descriptions  are  wonderfully  accurate,  vivid,  pictu- 
resque. There  is  no  phase  of  the  various  forms  of 
earth  and  sky  too  delicate  to  escape  his  minute  observa- 
tion. There  is  great  dignity  and  beauty,  for  example,  in 
his  description  of  sunrise  :  — 

'*  But  yonder  comes  the  powerful  King  of  Day, 
Rejoicing  in  the  east.     The  lessening  cloud. 
The  kindling  azure,  and  the  mountain's  brow 
Illumed  with  fluid  gold,  his  near  approach 
Betoken  glad.     Lo  !  now,  apparent  all. 
Aslant  the  dcw-briglit  earth  and  colored  air, 
He  looks  in  boundless  majesty  abroad. 
And  sheds  the  shining  day,  that  burnished  plays 
On  rocks,  and  hills,  and  towers,  and  wandering  streams, 
High  gleaming  from  afar." 

His  "  Castle  of  Indolence,"  written  in  the  Spenserian 
stanza,  is  polished  to  great  correctness  of  form  ;  but,  in 
spite  of  its  excellence,  it  has  never  been  very  popular. 

The  poetry  and  the  life  of  Edward  Young  present  a 
painful  contrast.  In  his  poems  he  assumes  the  role  of 
a  high  religious  moralist ;  but  in  his  life  he  was  an  ob- 
sequious courtier  and  persistent  place-seeker.  It  was  a 
great  disappointment  to  him  that  George  II.,  to  whom 
he  addressed  a  poem  containing  the  following  lines,  took 
him  at  his  word  :  — 


FIRST  CRITICAL   PERIOD.  213 

"  O  may  I  steal 

Along  the  vale 
Of  humble  life,  secure  from  foes  ! 

My  friend  sincere, 

My  judgment  clear, 
And  gentle  business  my  repose." 

Among  his  numerous  books  there  are  two  that  are 
not  unworthy  of  mention.  "  The  Love  of  Fame " 
is  a  series  of  satires  concluded  in  1728.  The  love  of 
praise  is  presented  as  a  universal  passion.  The  Duke 
of  Grafton  was  so  pleased  with  the  poem  that  he  pre- 
sented the  author  two  thousand  pounds.  "  What !  "  re- 
monstrated one  of  the  Duke's  friends,  "two  thousand 
pounds  for  a  poem !  "  "  Yes,"  replied  his  Grace,  "  and 
it  is  the  best  bargain  I  ever  made  in  my  life,  for  the  poem 
is  worth  four  thousand."     The  poem  begins  :  — 

"  The  love  of  praise,  howe'er  concealed  by  art. 
Reigns  more  or  less,  and  glows  in  every  heart ; 
The  proud,  to  gain  it,  toils  on  toils  endure ; 
The  modest  shun  it,  but  to  make  it  sure." 


'■■> 


The  chief  work  entitling  Young  to  a  place  in  the  annals 
of  English  literature  is  his  "  Night  Thoughts."  It  was 
inspired  by  a  triple  bereavement  that  overwhelmed  the 
poet  with  sorrow.  "It  differs,"  as  he  tells  us,  "from  the 
common  mode  of  poetry,  which  is,  from  long  narratives  to 
draw  short  morals  ;  here,  on  the  contrary,  the  narrative  is 
short,  and  the  morality  arising  from  it  makes  the  bulk  of 
the  poem.  The  reason  of  it  is  that  the  facts  mentioned 
did  naturally  pour  these  reflections  on  the  thoughts  of 
the  writer."  The  poem  embodies  a  sombre,  ascetic  view 
of  life.     Its  style  is  characterized    by  short,  exclamatory 


214  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

utterances,  the  suggestiveness  of  which  is  often  quite 
effective.  The  opening  lines,  which  are  often  referred  to, 
are  as  follows  :  — 

"  Tired  Nature's  sweet  restorer,  balmy  Sleep  ! 
He,  like  the  world,  his  ready  visit  pays, 
Where  Fortune  smiles  ;  the  wretched  he  forsakes ; 
Swift  on  his  downy  pinion  flies  from  woe, 
And  lights  on  lids  unsullied  by  a  tear." 

Young's  works  abound  in  brief  sententious  sayings,  and 
he  rivals  Shakespeare  and  Pope  in  the  number  of  pro- 
verbial expressions  that  have  passed  into  current  use.  A 
few  will  serve  for  illustration  :  — 

"  'Tis  impious  in  a  good  man  to  be  sad." 

"  'Tis  vain  to  seek  in  men  for  more  than  man." 

"  Pygmies  are  pygmies  still,  though  perched  on  Alps." 

"Death  loves  a  shining  mark,  a  signal  blow." 

"  The  man  that  blushes  is  not  quite  a  brute." 

"  Earth's  highest  station  ends  in  '  Here  he  lies  ; ' 
And  '  dust  to  dust '  concludes  the  noblest  song." 

The  mind  that  coined  these  and  many  similar  expres- 
sions was  endowed  with  no  ordinary  gifts. 


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(^/,/    fir    .-.'/    ('UcmtniU!    I).  I),    'l /rliie      S^n/pi  '       n.  .         ^\ 


Engraved  by  ^'ertue  iu  ir.30. 


^on:  ]/)^0rL^' 


JOHN  DRYDEN.  21  5 


JOHN    DRYDEN. 

One  of  the  greatest  names  in  the  literature  of  this 
period  is  John  Dryden.  He  does  not  deserve,  indeed, 
to  stand  by  the  side  of  Chaucer,  Spenser,  Shakespeare,  or 
Milton ;  but  after  these  great  names  he  comes  at  the  head 
of  the  second  rank.  It  was  the  fault  of  his  age  that  he 
was  not  greater.  No  man  can  wholly  detach  himself  from 
the  influences  by  which  he  is  surrounded  ;  and  Dryden 
came  on  the  stage  when  a  false  taste  prevailed,  and  when 
licentiousness  gave  moral  tone  to  poetry.  Living  in  the 
midst  of  burning  religious  and  political  questions,  he  was 
drawn  into  the  vortex  of  controversy.  He  was  always  a 
partisan  in  some  religious  or  political  issue  of  the  day. 
While  this  fact  has  given  us  some  of  the  best  satirical  and 
didactic  poems  in  our  language,  it  did  not  contribute,  per- 
haps, to  the  largest  development  of  his  poetical  powers. 

His  aims  were  not  high  enough.  "  I  confess,"  he  said, 
"  my  chief  endeavors  are  to  delight  the  age  in  which  I 
live.  If  the  humor  of  this  be  for  low  comedy,  small  acci- 
dents, and  raillery,  I  will  force  my  genius  to  obey  it." 
This  was  a  voluntary  degrading  of  his  genius  and  an 
intentional  renouncing  of  the  artistic  spirit.  Guided  by 
such  motives,  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  attain  the  high- 
est results.  If,  like  Milton,  he  had  concentrated  all  the 
energies  of  his  strong  nature  on  an  epic  poem,  as  he  once 
contemplated,  or  on  poetry  as  an  art,  his  work  would  no 


2l6  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

doubt  have  been  less  faulty.  But,  taking  him  as  he  was, 
we  cannot  help  admiring  his  genius,  which  created  for 
him  a  distinct  place  in   English  literature. 

Dryden  was  born  of  good  family  in  Northamptonshire 
in  163 1.  Both  on  his  father's  and  his  mother's  side  his 
ancestry  was  Puritan  and  republican.  He  was  educated 
at  Westminster  school,  under  the  famous  Dr.  Busby.  A 
schoolboy  poem  on  the  death  of  Lord  Hastings  had  the 
distinction,  and  we  may  add  the  misfortune,  of  being  pub- 
lished in  connection  with  several  other  elegies  called  forth 
by  the  same  event.  Some  of  its  conceits  are  exceedingly 
ridiculous.  The  young  nobleman  had  died  of  the  small- 
pox, and  Dryden  exclaims  :  — 

"  Was  there  no  milder  way  than  the  small-pox, 
The  very  filthiness  of  Pandora's  box?" 

Of  the  pustules  he  says  :  — 

"  Each  little  pimple  had  a  tear  in  it, 
To  wail  the  fault  its  rising  did  commit." 

And  as  the  climax  of  this  absurdity :  — 

"No  comet  need  foretell  his  change  drew  on, 
Whose  corpse  might  seem  a  constellation." 

Dryden's  genius  was  slow  in  maturing,  and  much  of  his 
early  work  failed  to  give  promise  of  his  future  eminence. 

He  entered  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  in  1650,  and 
took  his  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts  in  1654.  No  details 
of  his  college  life  have  come  down  to  us,  except  his  pun- 
ishment on  one  occasion  for  "  disobedience  to  the  vice- 
master,  and  contumacy  in  taking  his  punishment,  inflicted 
by  him."     In   1654,  by  the  death  of  his  father,  he  came 


JOHN  DRYDEN.  217 

into  the  possession  of  a  small  estate  worth  about  sixty 
pounds  a  year.  After  leaving  Cambridge,  for  which  he 
entertained  no  great  affection,  he  went  to  London,  and 
served  for  a  time  as  secretary  to  his  cousin,  Sir  Gilbert 
Pickering,  a  favorite  of  Cromwell. 

In  1658  he  composed  "Heroic  Stanzas"  on  the  death 
of  Oliver  Cromwell,  which  caused  him  to  be  spoken  of  as 
a  rising  poet.  Though  disfigured  here  and  there  by  con- 
ceits, it  is,  upon  the  whole,  a  strong,  manly  poem,  showing 
a  just  appreciation  of  the  great  Protector's  life.  His  next 
effort  does  not  reflect  credit  on  his  character.  It  was  the 
"  Astraea  Redux,"  written  "on  the  happy  restoration  and 
return  of  his  sacred  Majesty,  Charles  II."  After  his 
eulogy  of  Cromwell  two  years  before,  we  are  hardly  pre- 
pared for  such  lines  as  these  :  — 

"  For  his  long  absence  Church  and  State  did  groan ; 
Madness  the  pulpit,  faction  seized  the  throne  : 
Experienced  age  in  deep  despair  was  lost, 
To  see  the  rebel  thrive,  the  loyal  crossed."' 

In  1663  he  began  to  write  for  the  stage.  Instead  of 
seeking  to  elevate  pubHc  morals,  or  to  attain  perfection  in 
art,  it  is  to  the  lasting  discredit  of  Dryden  that  he  pandered 
to  the  vicious  taste  of  the  time.  His  first  play,  "The  Wild 
Gallant,"  was  not  successful ;  and  Pepys,  in  his  "  Diary," 
pronounced  it  "so  poor  a  thing  as  ever  I  saw  in  my  life." 
Without  following  him  through  the  vicissitudes  of  his  dra- 
matic career,  it  is  enough  to  say  that  he  wrote  in  all  twenty- 
eight  comedies  and  tragedies,  and  at  length  established  his 
position  as  the  first  dramatist  of  his  time.  For  a  long  time 
he  followed  French  models,  but  at  last  came  to  recognize 
and  professedly  to  imitate  the  "divine  Shakespeare."     In 


2i8  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

his  comedies,  as  he  tells  us,  he  copied  "  the  gallantries  of 
the  court."  When  in  later  years  Jeremy  Collier  severely 
attacked  the  immoralities  of  the  stage,  Dryden,  unlike  sev- 
eral of  his  fellow-dramatists  who  attempted  a  reply,  pleaded 
guilty,  and  retracted  all  thoughts  and  expressions  that 
could  be  fairly  charged  with  "obscenity,  profaneness,  or 
immorality." 

In  his  tragedies  he  imitated  the  heroic  style  of  Corneille. 
They  contain  much  splendid  declamation,  which  too  often 
degenerates  into  bombast.  But  frequently  he  reaches  the 
height  of  genuine  poetry.     Only  a  poet  could  have  written 

these  lines :  —  ^^  _        .  .      ,., 

"  Something  like 

That  voice,  methinks,  I  should  have  somewhere  heard ; 

But  floods  of  woe  have  hurried  it  far  off 

Beyond  my  ken  of  soul." 

Or  these :  — 

"  I  feel  death  rising  higher  still  and  higher 
Within  my  bosom  ;  every  breath  I  fetch 
Shuts  up  my  life  within  a  shorter  compass, 
And,  like  the  vanishing  sound  of  bells,  grows  less 
And  less  each  pulse,  till  it  be  lost  in  air." 

When  he  moralizes,  he  is  often  admirable  :  — 

"  The  gods  are  just, 
But  how  can  finite  measure  infinite? 
Reason!  alas,  it  does  not  know  itself! 
Yet  man,  vain  man,  would  with  his  short-lined  plummet 
Fathom  the  vast  abyss  of  heavenly  justice. 
Whatever  is,  is  in  its  causes  just, 
Since  all  things  are  by  fate.     But  purblind  man 
Sees  but  a  part  o'  th'  chain,  the  nearest  links. 
His  eyes  not  carrying  to  that  equal  beam 
That  poises  all  above." 


JOHN  DRYDEN.  2ig 

But  the  drama  was  not  Dryden's  sphere.  In  his  mind 
the  judgment  had  the  ascendency  over  the  imagination. 
He  was  strongest  in  analyzing,  arguing,  criticising.  He 
was  a  master  of  satire  —  not  indeed  of  that  species  which 
slovenly  butchers  a  man,  to  use  his  own  comparison,  but 
rather  of  that  species  which  has  "the  fineness  of  stroke 
to  separate  the  head  from  the  body  and  leave  it  standing 
in  its  place."  We  shall  say  nothing  of  his  "Annus  Mira- 
bilis,"  a  long  poem  on  the  Dutch  war  and  the  London 
fire,  except  that  it  contains  some  of  his  manliest  lines.  It 
is  not  easy  to  surpass  :  — 

''  Silent  in  smoke  of  cannon  they  come  on  ;  " 

"  And  his  loud  gims  speak  thick,  like  angry  men  ; " 

"  The  vigorous  seaman  every  port-hole  plies, 
And  adds  his  heart  to  every  giui  he  fires." 

In  1 68 1  appeared  the  famous  satire,  "Absalom  and 
Achitophel,"  the  object  of  which  was  to  bring  discredit  on 
the  Earl  of  Shaftesbury  and  his  adherents,  who  were  seek- 
ing; to  secure  the  succession  to  the  throne  for  the  Duke  of 
Monmouth,  Charles's  eldest  son.  It  has  been  called  the 
best  political  satire  ever  written.  There  is  no  effort  at 
playful  and  delicate  art ;  the  poem  was  composed  in  ear- 
nest, and  it  abounds  in  hard,  sweeping,  stunning  blows.  It 
was  eagerly  seized  upon  by  the  public,  and  in  a  year  no 
fewer  than  nine  editions  were  called  for.  The  Earl  of 
Shaftesbury  figures  as  Achitophel  :  — 

"  A  name  to  all  succeeding  ages  curst : 
For  close  designs,  and  crooked  counsels  fit ; 
Sagacious,  bold,  and  turbulent  of  wit ; 


220  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Restless,  unfix'd  in  principles  and  place ; 

In  power  unpleased.  impatient  of  disgrace  : 

A  fiery  soul,  which,  working  out  its  way, 

Fretted  the  pygmy-body  to  decay, 

And  o'er-inform'd  the  tenement  of  clay  ; 

A  daring  pilot  in  extremity  ; 

Pleased  with  the  danger,  when  the  waves  went  high, 

He  sought  the  storms ;  but  for  a  calm  unfit. 

Would  steer  too  nigh  the  sands  to  boast  his  wit.'"' 

The  Duke  of  Buckingham  is  Zimri,  whose  character  is 
outhned  with  astonishing  power  :  — 

"  A  man  so  various,  that  he  seemed  to  be 
Not  one,  but  all  mankind's  epitome : 
Stiff  in  opinions,  always  in  the  wrong ; 
Was  everything  by  starts,  and  nothing  long : 
But  in  the  course  of  one  revolving  moon, 
Was  Chymist,  fiddler,  statesman,  and  buffoon : 
Then  all  for  women,  painting,  rhyming,  drinking, 
Besides  ten  thousand  freaks  that  died  in  thinking. 
Bless'd  madman,  who  could  every  hour  employ. 
With  something  new  to  wish,  or  to  enjoy! 
Railing  and  praising  were  his  usual  themes ; 
And  both,  to  show  his  judgment,  in  extremes." 

In  1682  appeared  the  "  Religio  Laici."  As  an  ex- 
position of  a  layman's  faith  it  was  probably  an  honest 
presentation  of  Dryden's  beliefs  at  the  time.  Whether 
intended  to  serve  a  political  purpose  or  not,  is  a  matter  of 
dispute ;  but  it  attacks  the  Papists  and  at  the  same  time 
declares  the  "  Fanatics,"  by  whom  are  meant  the  Non- 
conformists, still  more  dangerous  —  a  declaration  that 
accorded  well  with  Charles's  policy  of  persecution.  It  is 
entirely  didactic  in  character  and  deservedly  ranks  as  one 


JOHN  DRY  DEN.  221 

of  the  very  best  poems  of  its  class  in  English.     Though 

it   is    closely  argumentative    throughout,  it   still    contains 

passages  of  much  beauty.     The  opening  lines  are  justly 

admired :  — 

"  Dim  as  the  borrowed  beams  of  moon  and  stars 
To  lonely,  weary,  wandering  travellers 
Is  Reason  to  the  soul :  and  as  on  high 
Those  rolling  fires  discover  but  the  sky, 
Not  light  us  here,  so  Reason's  glimmering  ray 
Was  lent,  not  to  assure  our  doubtful  way. 
But  guide  us  upward  to  a  better  day. 
And  as  those  nightly  tapers  disappear 
When  day's  bright  lord  ascends  our  hemisphere, 
So  pale  grows  Reason  at  Religion's  sight. 
So  dies,  and  so  dissolves  in  supernatural  light." 

In  the  preface  to  the  poem  Dryden  has  given  us  the 
ideal  of  style  at  which  he  aimed,  and  which  he  largely  real- 
ized :  "  If  any  one  be  so  lamentable  a  critic  as  to  require 
the  smoothness,  the  numbers,  and  the  turn  of  heroic  poetry 
in  this  poem,  I  must  tell  him  that,  if  he  has  not  read 
Horace,  I  have  studied  him  and  hope  the  style  of  his  Epis- 
tles is  not  ill  imitated  here.  The  expressions  of  a  poem 
designed  purely  for  instruction  ought  to  be  plain  and 
natural,  and  yet  majestic  ;  for  here  the  poet  is  presumed  to 
be  a  kind  of  lawgiver,  and  those  three  qualities  which  I 
have  named  are  proper  to  the  legislative  style.  The  florid, 
elevated,  and  figurative  way  is  for  the  passions  ;  for  love 
and  hatred,  fear  and  anger,  are  begotten  in  the  soul  by 
showing  their  objects  out  of  their  true  proportion,  either 
greater  than  the  life  or  less ;  but  instruction  is  to  be  given 
by  showing  them  what  they  naturally  are.  A  man  is  to  be 
cheated  into  passion,  but  to  be  reasoned  into  truth." 


222  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

In  1683  appeared  a  translation  of  Boileau's  "  L'Art 
Poetique."  Though  at  first  translated  by  a  friend,  Dry- 
den's  revisal  made  it  practically  his  own.  It  is  of  inter- 
est, not  only  as  showing  the  direct  influence  of  French 
masters,  but  as  setting  forth  the  principles  that  under- 
lay Dryden's  later  work  and  the  poetry  of  the  earlier 
half  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Reason  largely  takes 
the  place  of  imagination.     Thus  :  — 

"  Whate'er  you  write  of  pleasant  or  sublime, 
Always  let  sense  accompany  your  rhyme ; 
Falsely  they  seem  each  other  to  oppose ; 
Rhyme  must  be  made  with  reason's  laws  to  close." 

And  in  regard  to  diction  :  — 

"  Observe  the  language  well  in  all  you  write, 
And  swerve  not  from  it  in  your  loftiest  flight. 
The  smoothest  verse  and  the  exactest  sense 
Displease  us,  if  ill  English  give  offence. 
Take  time  for  thinking ;  never  work  in  haste  ; 
And  value  not  yourself  for  writing  fast." 

On  the  accession  of  James,  in  1685,  Dryden  became  a 
Roman  Catholic.  This  conversion  has  given  rise  to  con- 
siderable discussion.  Did  it  result  from  conviction  or 
from  self-interest  ?  It  is  impossible  to  determine.  But, 
in  the  moderate  language  of  Johnson,  "  That  conversion 
will  always  be  suspected  that  apparently  concurs  with 
interest.  He  that  never  finds  his  error  till  it  hinders  his 
progress  toward  wealth  or  honor,  will  not  be  thought 
to  love  truth  only  for  herself.  Yet  it  may  easily  happen 
that  information  may  come  at  a  commodious  time,  and  as 
truth  and  interest  are  not  by  any  fatal  necessity  at  vari- 


JOHN  DRYDEN.  223 

ance,  that  one  may  by  accident  introduce  the  other. 
When  opinions  are  struggling  into  popularity,  the  argu- 
ments by  which  they  are  opposed  or  defended  become 
more  known,  and  he  that  changes  his  profession  would 
perhaps  have  changed  it  before,  with  the  like  opportuni- 
ties of  instruction.  This  was  then  the  state  of  popery ; 
every  artifice  was  used  to  show  it  in  its  fairest  form  ;  and 
it  must  be  owned  to  be  a  religion  of  external  appearance 
sufficiently  attractive." 

As  a  result  of  this  conversion  we  have  the  "  Hind  and 
Panther,"  a  poem  of  twenty-five  hundred  lines,  which  is 
devoted  to  the  defence  of  the  Roman  Church.  This 
church  is  represented  by  the  "milk-white  hind,"  and  the 
Church  of  England  by  the  panther,  a  beautiful  but  spotted 
animal.  Published  at  a  time  of  heated  religious  contro- 
versy, it  had  a  wide  circulation.  It  was  regarded  by 
Pope  as  the  most  correct  specimen  of  Dryden's  versifi- 
cation ;  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  author, 
knowing  it  would  be  criticised  with  the  most  unfriendly 
rigor,  elaborated  it  with  unusual  care.  The  opening  lines 
are  beautiful :  — 

"A  milk-white  Hind,  immortal  and  unchanged, 
Fed  on  the  lawns,  and  in  the  forest  ranged ; 
Without  unspotted,  innocent  within. 
She  feared  no  danger,  for  she  knew  no  sin. 
Yet  hath  she  oft  been  chased  with  horns  and  hounds 
And  Scythian  shafts,  and  many  winged  wounds 
Aimed  at  her  heart ;  was  often  forced  to  fly, 
And  doomed  to  death,  though  fated  not  to  die." 

At  the  Revolution  Dryden  did  not  abjure  his  faith, 
and,  as  a  consequence,  lost    his  office    as    poet   laureate. 


224  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

In  addition  to  the  loss  of  his  pension,  which  he  could 
ill  afford  to  suffer,  he  had  the  chagrin  of  seeing  his 
rival,  Shadwell,  elevated  to  his  place.  Against  him  he 
wrote  at  this  time  one  of  his  keenest  satires,  entitled 
"  Mac    Flecknoe."     Flecknoe,    who    had   governed   long, 

and  — 

"  In  prose  and  verse  was  owned,  without  dispute, 
Tlirough  all  the  realms  of  Nonsense,  absolute," 

at  length  decides  to  settle  the  succession  of  the  state,  — 

"  And,  pondering,  which  of  all  his  sons  was  fit 
To  reign,  and  wage  immortal  war  with  wit, 
Cried,  '  'Tis  resolved  ;  for  nature  pleads,  that  he 
Should  only  rule,  who  most  resembles  me. 
Shadwell  alone  my  perfect  image  bears, 
Mature  in  dulness  from  his  tender  years : 
Shadwell  alone,  of  all  my  sons,  is  he. 
Who  stands  confirmed  in  full  stupidity. 
The  rest  to  some  faint  meaning  make  pretence, 
But  Shadwell  never  deviates  into  sense.'  " 

Once  more  thrown  upon  his  pen  for  support,  Dryden 
turned  to  the  stage,  but  chiefly  to  translation.  In  1693 
he  published  a  volume  of  miscellanies,  which  contained 
translations  from  Homer  and  Ovid ;  and  a  little  later 
appeared  the  satires  of  Juvenal  and  Persius.  His  theory 
of  translation,  as  set  forth  in  his  prefaces,  is  better  than 
his  practice.  He  takes  liberties  with  his  author ;  and, 
as  was  the  case  with  him  in  all  his  writings,  he  is  far 
from  painstaking.  Besides,  instead  of  mitigating,  he  mag- 
nified their  obscenity.  But,  upon  the  whole,  the  transla- 
tions are  of  high  excellence.  The  most  important  of  his 
translations  was  that  of  Virgil's  "yEneid,"  on  which    he 


JOHN  DRYDEN.  22$ 

labored  three  years.  The  public  expectation  was  great, 
and  it  was  not  disappointed.  Pope  pronounced  it  "  the 
most  noble  and  spirited  translation  that  I  know  in  any 
language." 

Its  form  may  be  seen  from  the  opening  Hues :  — 

"Arms,  and  the  man  I  sing,  who,  forced  by  fate 
And  haughty  Junols  unrelenting  hate, 
Expelled  and  exiled,  left  the  Trojan  shore. 
Long  labors,  both  by  sea  and  land,  he  bore, 
And  in  the  doubtful  war,  before  he  won 
The  Latin  realm,  and  built  the  destined  town, 
His  banished  gods  restored  to  rites  divine. 
And  settled  sure  succession  in  his  line, 
From  whence  the  race  of  Alban  fathers  come 
And  the  long  glories  of  majestic  Rome." 

Dryden,  without  understanding  the  versification  of 
Chaucer,  admired  his  poetic  beauties  and  translated  sev- 
eral of  the  "  Canterbury  Tales  "  into  current  English.  "  As 
he  is  the  father  of  English  poetry,"  he  says,  "so  I  hold 
him  in  the  same  degree  of  veneration  as  the  Grecians  held 
Homer  or  the  Romans  Virgil.  He  is  a  perpetual  fountain 
of  good  sense,  learned  in  all  sciences,  and  therefore  speaks 
properly  on  all  subjects."  It  is  to  Dryden's  credit  that  he 
chose  those  tales  that  do  not  savor  of  immodesty  —  "  Pala- 
mon  and  Afcite,"  "The  Cock  and  the  Fox,"  and  the 
"Wife  of  Bath's  Tale,"  the  prologue  of  which  is  omitted. 
Though  his  renderings  into  modern  English  are  excellent, 
Chaucer's  charm  is  somehow  largely  lost.  To  be  con- 
vinced of  this  fact,  it  is  only  necessary  to  compare  his  ren- 
dering of  the  "Good  Parson"  with  the  original  of  the 
"Prologue." 


226  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Among  his  songs  and  odes,  the  best  known  is  "  Alex- 
ander's Feast."  He  wrote  it  at  a  single  sitting  and 
afterward  spent  a  fortnight  in  polishing  it.  It  is  justly 
considered  one  of  the  finest  odes  in  our  language.  Dryden 
himself  declared  that  it  would  never  be  surpassed.  It  was, 
perhaps,  the  last  effort  of  his  poetic  genius,  composed 
amid  the  pressing  infirmities  of  age.  It  was  fitting,  to  use 
the  beautiful  words  of  one  of  his  heroes,  that  — 

"  A  setting  sun 
Should  leave  a  track  of  glory  in  the  skies." 

He  died  May  i,  1700,  and  was  buried  with  imposing  pomp 
in  Westminster  Abbey. 

Dryden's  prose  is  scarcely  less  excellent  than  his  verse. 
He  wrote  much  on  criticism  in  the  form  of  prefaces  in 
his  various  works.  He  avoided,  as  a  rule,  the  common 
mistakes  in  the  prose  of  his  time  —  inordinately  long  sen- 
tences and  tedious  parenthetic  clauses.  He  says  he  formed 
his  prose  style  on  Tillotson ;  but  Tillotson  never  had  the 
ease,  point,  and  brilliancy  of  Dryden.  He  was  a  clear, 
strong  thinker,  with  a  great  deal  to  say ;  and  often  com- 
pressing his  thought  into  a  few  well-chosen  words,  he  sent 
them  forth  like  shots  from  a  rifle.  He  delighted  in  argu- 
ment, and  on  either  side  of  a  question  he  could  marshal 
his  points  with  almost  matchless  skill.  Whether  attacking 
or  defending  the  Roman  Church,  he  showed  equal  power. 

Dryden  did  not  attain  to  the  highest  regions  of  poetry. 
He  could  not  portray  what  is  deepest  and  finest  in  human 
experience.  His  strong,  masculine  hands  were  too  clumsy. 
He  has  no  charm  of  pathos  ;  he  does  not  touch  that  part 
of  our  nature  where  "  thoughts  do  often  lie  too  deep  for 


JOHN  DRYDEN.  .  22/ 

tears."  But  he  was  a  virile  thinker  and  a  master  of  the 
English  tongue.  He  had  the  gift  of  using  the  right  word  ; 
and  in  the  words  of  Lowell  he  "  sometimes  carried  com- 
mon-sense to  a  height  where  it  catches  the  light  of  a 
diviner  air,  and  warmed  reason  till  it  had  well-nigh  the  illu- 
minating property  of  intuition." 

He  made  literature  a  trade.  He  wrote  rapidly,  and 
having  once  finished  a  piece,  he  did  not,  year  after  year, 
patiently  retouch  it  into  perfection.  Perhaps  he  wrote  too 
much.  Voltaire  said  that  he  "  would  have  a  glory  without 
a  blemish,  if  he  had  only  written  the  tenth  part  of^  his 
works."  Yet,  in  spite  of  his  faults,  we  recognize  and 
admire  his  extraordinary  intellectual  force  and  the  indis- 
putable greatness  of  his  literary  work.  At  Will's  Coffee- 
house, where  his  chair  had  in  winter  a  prescriptive  place 
by  the  fire,  and  in  summer  a  choice  spot  on  the  balcony, 
he  was  fitted,  beyond  all  others  of  his  time,  to  reign  as 
literary  dictator. 

For  the  rest,  we  shall  let  Congreve  speak  —  the  poet 
whom  Dryden  implored  "to  be  kind  to  his  remains,"  and 
who  was  not  untouched  by  the  appeal.  "  Mr.  Dryden," 
says  his  friend,  "  had  personal  qualities  to  challenge  both 
love  and  esteem  from  all  who  were  truly  acquainted  with 
him.  He  was  of  a  nature  exceedingly  humane  and  com- 
passionate, easily  forgiving  injuries,  and  capable  of  a 
prompt  and  sincere  reconciliation  with  those  who  had 
offended  him.  Such  a  temperament  is  the  only  solid 
foundation  of  all  moral  virtues  and  sociable  endowments. 
His  friendship,  when  he  professed  it,  went  much  beyond 
his  professions,  though  his  hereditary  income  was  little 
more  than  a  bare  competency.     As  his  reading  had  been 


228  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

extensive,  so  was  he  very  happy  in  a  memory  tenacious  of 
everything  he  read.  He  was  not  more  possessed  of  know- 
ledge than  communicative  of  it,  but  then  his  communica- 
tion of  it  was  by  no  means  pedantic,  or  imposed  upon  the 
conversation;  but  just  such,  and  went  so  far,  as  by  the 
natural  turn  of  the  discourse  in  which  he  was  engaged,  it 
was  necessarily  promoted  or  required.  He  was  extremely 
ready  and  gentle  in  his  correction  of  the  errors  of  any 
writer  who  thought  fit  to  consult  him,  and  felt  as  ready  and 
patient  to  admit  of  the  reprehension  of  others  in  respect 
of  his  own  oversight  or  mistakes.  He  was  of  very  easy,  I 
may  say  of  very  pleasing,  access,  but  somewhat  slow,  and, 
as  it  were,  diffident  in  his  advances  to  others.  He  had 
something  in  his  nature  that  abhorred  intrusion  into  any 
society  whatever  :  indeed,  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  he  was 
rather  blamable  in  the  other  extreme ;  for  by  that  means 
he  was  personally  less  known,  and  consequently  his  char- 
acter will  become  liable  to  misapprehension  and  misrepre- 
sentation. To  the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  observation, 
he  was,  of  all  men  that  ever  I  knew,  one  of  the  most 
modest  and  the  most  easily  to  be  discountenanced  in  his 
approaches  either  to  his  superiors  or  his  equals." 


Kiigravfd  by  Simon  alter  tin-  |i mitini;  Sy  Kni'lU*r. 


J-,  y^^^^i^^. 


VT-C(V 

r;'-.-^  vU 

^rvL 

»Qo<-«^vs .  «J  ' 

JOSEPH 

ADDISON.  \ 

229 

Ooy^Zy* 

V/^/  C-K^-v 

Cn^/J  ■ 

^ 

C6^y 

n'l  ~ 

1 '-/ ' 

JOSEPH 

ADDISON. 

) 


There  is  no  other  writer  in  English  Hterature  of  whom 
we  think  more  kindly  than  of  Joseph  Addison.  Macaulay 
has  given  very  strong  expression  to  the  same  sentiment. 
"After  full  inquiry  and  impartial  reflection,"  he  says,  "we 
have  long  been  convinced  that  he  deserved  as  much  love 
and  esteem  as  can  be  justly  claimed  by  any  of  our  infirm 
and  erring  race." 

We  read  his  writings  with  a  refined  and  soothing  pleas- 
ure. They  possess  a  genial  humor  and  unvarying  cheer- 
fulness that  are  contagious  and  delightful.  There  is  no 
other  writer  who  has  greater  power  to  dispel  gloominess. 
As  seen  through  his  pages,  the  world  appears  wrapped  in 
a  mellow  light.  We  learn  to  think  more  kindly  of  men, 
to  smile  at  human  foibles,  to  entertain  ennobling  senti- 
ments, to  trust  in  an  overruling  providence. 

He  does  not  indeed  usually  treat  of  the  deeper  interests 
of  human  life ;  he  is  never  profound  ;  he  does  not  try  to 
exhaust  a  subject  —  to  write  it  to  the  dregs.  His  sphere 
is  rather  that  of  minor  morals,  social  foibles,  and  small 
philosophy.  But  if  he  is  not  deep,  he  is  not  trifling ;  and 
if  he  is  not  exhaustive,  he  is  always  interesting.  He  uses 
satire,  but  it  is  never  cruel.  It  does  not,  like  that  of  Swift, 
scatter  desolation  in  its  path.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  tem- 
pered with  a  large  humanity,  and  like  a  gentle  rain,  dis- 
penses blessings  in  its  course.  It  leads,  not  to  cynicism, 
but  to  tenderness. 


230  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

He  enlisted  wit  on  the  side  of  virtue ;  and  by  his  inimi- 
table humor,  good  sense,  genial  satire,  and  simple  piety,  he 
wrought  a  great  social  reform.  "  So  effectually,  indeed," 
says  Macaulay,  "  did  he  retort  on  vice  the  mockery  which 
had  recently  been  directed  against  virtue,  that,  since  his 
time,  the  open  violation  of  decency  has  always  been  con- 
sidered amongst  us  the  sure  mark  of  a  fool." 

Joseph  Addison  was  born  in  Wiltshire  in  1672,  his 
father,  a  man  of  some  eminence,  being  dean  of  Lichfield. 
Though  there  is  a  tradition  that  he  once  took  a  leading 
part  in  barring  out  his  teacher,  and  on  another  occasion 
played  truant,  his  youthful  scholarship  proves  him  to  have 
been  a  diligent  student.  From  the  school  at  Lichfield  he 
passed  to  Charter  House.  Here  he  made  the  friendship 
of  Steele,  which,  as  we  shall  see,  was  not  without  influence 
upon  his  subsequent  career  and  fame. 

At  the  age  of  fifteen  he  entered  Oxford  with  a  scholar- 
ship far  in  advance  of  his  years,  attracted  attention  by  his 
superior  Latin  verses,  and  was  elected  a  scholar  of  Magda- 
len College,  where  he  took  his  degree  of  Master  of  Arts 
in  1693.  He  was  held  in  high  regard  for  his  ability  and 
learning.  His  portrait  now  hangs  in  the  college  hall,  and 
his  favorite  walk  on  the  banks  of  the  Cherwell  is  still 
pointed  out. 

After  writing  a  number  of  Latin  poems,  which  secured 
the  praise  of  the  great  French  critic  Boileau,  he  made  his 
first  attempt  in  English  verse  in  some  lines  addressed  to 
Dryden,  at  that  time  preeminent  among  men  of  letters. 
This  maiden  effort  had  the  good  fortune  to  please  the 
great  author  and  led  to  an  interchange  of  civilities. 

At  this  time  Addison's  mind  seemed  inclined  to  poetry, 


JOSEPH  ADDISON.  23 1 

and  he  published  some  lines  to  King  William,  a  transla- 
tion of  Virgil's  fourth  Georgia,  and  "  An  Account  of  the 
Greatest  Enghsh  Poets,"  all  of  which  have  but  little  to 
commend  them  except  correct  versification.  The  last 
poem  is  remarkable  for  having  a  discriminating  criticism  of 
Spenser,  whose  works  the  author  at  that  time  had  not 
read.  "  So  little  sometimes,"  comments  Dr.  Johnson,  "  is 
criticism  the  effect  of  judgment." 

Addison  was  a  moderate  Whig  in  politics,  and  by  his 
poems  had  conciliated  the  favor  of  Somers  and  Montague, 
afterward  Earl  of  Halifax.  In  conformity  with  the  wishes 
of  his  father  and  his  own  inclinations,  he  contemplated 
taking  orders  in  the  Anglican  Church  ;  but  through  the 
influence  of  Montague,  who  was  unwilling  to  spare  him  to 
the  church,  he  was  led  to  prepare  himself  for  the  public 
service. 

He  was  granted  a  pension  of  three  hundred  pounds, 
and  spent  the  next  several  years  in  travel  on  the  Conti- 
nent, visiting  France,  Italy,  Switzerland,  Germany,  and 
Holland.  He  improved  his  opportunities  in  perfecting 
his  knowledge  of  the  French  language,  in  visiting  locali- 
ties of  historic  interest,  and  in  making  the  acquaintance 
of  illustrious  scholars  and  statesmen.  His  observations 
on  the  French  people,  as  given  in  a  letter  to  Montague, 
are  worth  reading :  "  Truly,  by  what  I  have  yet  seen,  they 
are  the  happiest  nation  in  the  world.  'Tis  not  in  the 
power  of  want  or  slavery  to  make  them  miserable.  There 
is  nothing  to  be  met  with  in  the  country  but  mirth  and 
poverty.  Every  one  sings,  laughs,  and  starves.  Their 
conversation  is  generally  agreeable  ;  for  if  they  have  any 
wit  or  sense,  they  are  sure  to  show  it.     They  never  mend 


232  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

upon  a  second  meeting,  but  use  all  the  freedom  and  famil- 
iarity at  first  sight  that  a  long  intimacy  or  abundance  of 
wine  can  scarce  draw  from  an  Englishman.  Their  women 
are  perfect  mistresses  in  this  art  of  showing  themselves  to 
the  best  advantage.  They  are  always  gay  and  sprightly, 
and  set  off  the  worst  faces  in  Europe  with  the  best  airs." 
In  general,  his  remarks  upon  the  French  character  are 
not  complimentary. 

The  immediate  literary  fruits  of  his  travels  were  a  poeti- 
cal epistle  to  Lord  Halifax,  which  ranks  among  his  best 
verses,  and  "  Remarks  on  Italy,"  in  which  his*  observations 
are  made  to  illustrate  the  Roman  poets.  In  his  "  Letter 
to  Lord  Halifax  "  he  gives  expression  to  his  delight  and 
enthusiasm  in  finding  himself  in  the  midst  of  scenes 
associated  with  his  favorite  authors  :  — 

"  Poetic  fields  encompass  me  around, 
And  still  I  seem  to  tread  on  classic  ground ; 
For  here  the  Muse  so  oft  her  harp  has  strung. 
That  not  a  mountain  rears  its  head  unsung ; 
Renowned  in  verse  each  shady  thicket  grows, 
And  every  stream  in  heavenly  numbers  flows." 

Here  should  be  mentioned  also  one  of  his  best  hymns. 
While  sailing  along  the  Italian  coast,  he  encountered  a 
fierce  storm.  The  captain  of  the  ship  lost  all  hope  and 
confessed  his  sins  to  a  Capuchin  friar  who  happened  to  be 
on  board.  But  the  young  English  traveller  solaced  him- 
self with  the  reflections  embodied  in  the  famous  hymn :  — 

''  When  all  thy  mercies,  O  my  God, 
My  rising  soul  surveys, 
Transported  with  the  view  Pm  lost 
In  wonder,  love,  and  praise." 


JOSEPH  ADDISON.  233 

Toward  the  close  of  1703  Addison  returned  to  England 
and  was  cordially  received  by  his  friends.  He  was  enrolled 
at  the  Kit-Kat  Club  and  thus  brought  into  contact  with  the 
chief  lights  of  the  Whig  party.  The  way  was  soon  opened 
to  a  public  office. 

The  battle  of  Blenheim  was  fought  in  1704,  and  Godol- 
phin,  the  Lord  Treasurer,  wished  to  have  the  great  victory 
worthily  celebrated  in  verse.  He  was  referred  by  Halifax 
to  Addison.  The  result  was  "The  Campaign,"  which  was 
received  with  extraordinary  applause  both  by  the  minister 
and  the  public.  Its  chief  merit  is  the  rejection  of  extrava- 
gant fiction,  according  to  which  heroes  are  represented  as 
mowing  down  whole  squadrons  with  their  single  arm,  and 
a  recognition  of  those  qualities  —  energy,  sagacity,  and 
coolness  in  the  hour  of  danger  —  which  made  Marlborough 
really  a  great  commander  :  — 

"  'Twas  then  great  Marlbro's  mighty  soul  was  proved 
That,  in  the  shock  of  charging  hosts  unmoved, 
Amidst  confusion,  horror,  and  despair, 
E.xamined  all  the  dreadful  scenes  of  war ; 
In  peaceful  thought  the  field  of  death  surveyed, 
To  fainting  squadrons  sent  the  timely  aid, 
Inspired  repulsed  battalions  to  engage, 
And  taught  the  doubtful  battle  where  to  rage. 
So  when  an  angel  by  divine  command 
With  rising  tempests  shakes  a  guilty  land. 
Such  as  of  late  o'er  pale  Britannia  past. 
Calm  and  serene  he  drives  the  furious  blast; 
And,  pleased  the  Almighty's  orders  to  perform. 
Rides  in  the  whirlwind,  and  directs  the  storm." 

This  simile  of  the  angel  the  7>z//^;' pronounced  "one  of  the 
noblest  thoughts  that  ever  entered  into  the  heart  of  man." 


234  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

From  this  time  on  the  career  of  Addison  was  a  brilliant 
one.  In  1704,  in  grateful  recognition  of  his  poem,  he  re- 
ceived the  Excise  Commissionership,  made  vacant  by  the 
death  of  the  celebrated  John  Locke.  In  1706  he  became 
one  of  the  Under-Secretaries  of  State ;  and  two  years  later 
he  entered  Parliament,  where,  however,  his  natural  timidity 
kept  him  from  participating  in  the  debates.  In  1709  he 
was  appointed  Chief  Secretary  for  Ireland ;  and,  while  re- 
siding in  that  country,  he  entered  upon  that  department  of 
literature  on  which  his  fame  chiefly  rests,  and  in  which 
he  stands  without  a  rival. 

Shortly  after  Steele  began  the  Tatler  in  1 709,  he  invited 
Addison's  aid  as  a  contributor.  The  result  may  be  best 
expressed  in  Steele's  own  words  :  "  I  fared,"  he  said,  "  like 
a  distressed  prince  who  calls  in  a  powerful  neighbor  to  his 
aid.  I  was  undone  by  my  auxiliary.  When  I  had  once 
called  him  in,  I  could  not  subsist  without  dependence  on 
him."  The  Tatler  VJ3.?,  published  three  times  a  week,  and, 
after  reaching  two  hundred  and  seventy-one  numbers,  was 
discontinued  Jan.  2,  1711. 

It  was  succeeded  by  the  Spectator,  which  appeared  six 
times  a  week.  The  first  number  was  issued  March  i,  171 1, 
—  two  months  after  the  discontinuance  of  the  Tatler.  It 
was  considered  at  the  time  a  bold  undertaking ;  but  the 
result  more  than  justified  the  confidence  of  Steele  and 
Addison,  its  promoters. 

It  is  made  up  of  an  incomparable  series  of  short  essays, 
which  have  all  the  interest  of  fiction  and  the  value  of  phi- 
losophy. They  are  represented  as  the  productions  of  an 
imaginary  spectator  of  the  world,  a  description  of  whom 
in  the  first  paper  we  recognize  as  a  caricature  of  Addison 


JOSEPH  ADDISON.  235 

himself.  "Thus  I  live  in  the  world,"  it  is  said,  "  rather  as 
a  spectator  of  mankind  than  as  one  of  the  species,  by 
which  means  I  have  made  myself  a  speculative  statesman, 
soldier,  merchant,  and  artisan,  without  ever  meddling  with 
any  practical  part  in  life.  I  am  very  well  versed  in  the 
theory  of  a  husband  or  a  father,  and  can  discern  the 
errors  in  the  economy,  business,  and  diversions  of  others, 
better  than  those  who  are  engaged  in  them ;  as  stand- 
ers-by  discover  blots,  which  are  apt  to  escape  those  who 
are  in  the  game.  I  never  espoused  any  party  with  vio- 
lence, and  am  resolved  to  observe  an  exact  neutrality 
between  the  Whigs  and  Tories,  unless  I  shall  be  forced 
to  declare  myself  by  the  hostilities  of  either  side.  In 
short,  I  have  acted  in  all  the  parts  of  my  life  as  a 
looker-on,  which  is  the  character  I  intend  to  preserve  in 
this  paper." 

The  plan,  it  must  be  perceived,  is  excellent.  Addison 
wrote  about  three-sevenths  of  the  six  hundred  and  thirty- 
five  numbers.  He  poured  into  them  all  the  wealth  of  his 
learning,  observation,  and  genius.  The  variety  is  almost 
endless,  but  the  purpose  is  always  moral.  He  is  a  great 
teacher  without  being  pedantic.  His  wholesome  lessons 
arc  so  seasoned  with  playful  humor,  gentle  satire,  and 
honest  amiability  that  they  encounter  no  resistance.  Vice 
becomes  ridiculous  and  virtue  admirable.  And  his  style 
is  so  easy,  graceful,  perspicuous,  elegant,  that  it  must  re- 
main a  model  for  all  time.  "  Give  days  and  nights,  sir," 
said  the  blunt  Dr.  Johnson,  "  to  the  study  of  Addison,  if 
you  mean  to  be  a  good  writer,  or  what  is  more  worth,  an 
honest  man." 

The  following  paragraph  from  the  Sir  Roger  de  Cover- 


236  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

ley  papers  —  a  famous  and  delightful  series  in  the  Specta- 
tor—  describes  the  Knight  at  Church  :  — 

"  As  Sir  Roger  is  landlord  to  the  whole  congregation, 
he  keeps  them  in  very  good  order  and  will  suffer  nobody 
to  sleep  in  it  besides  himself ;  for  if  by  chance  he  has 
been  surprised  into  a  short  nap  at  sermon,  upon  recover- 
ing out  of  it  he  stands  up  and  looks  about  him,  and  if  he 
sees  anybody  else  nodding,  either  wakes  them  himself,  or 
sends  his  servant  to  them.  Several  other  of  the  old 
knight's  particularities  break  out  upon  these  occasions. 
Sometimes  he  will  be  lengthening  out  a  verse  in  the  sing- 
ing psalms,  half  a  minute  after  the  rest  of  the  congrega- 
tion have  done  with  it ;  sometimes,  when  he  is  pleased 
with  the  matter  of  his  devotion,  he  pronounces  Amen 
three  or  four  times  to  the  same  prayer,  and  sometimes 
stands  up  when  everybody  else  is  upon  their  knees,  to 
count  the  congregation,  or  see  if  any  of  his  tenants  are 
missing." 

The  Spectator  created  a  large  constituency,  and  every 
number  was  eagerly  waited  for.  It  found  a  welcome  in 
the  coffee-houses  and  at  many  a  breakfast-table.  Its  daily 
circulation  was  more  than  three  thousand ;  and  when  the 
essays  were  published  in  book  form,  ten  thousand  copies 
of  each  volume  were  immediately  called  for,  and  successive 
editions  were  necessary  to  supply  the  popular  demand. 

In  1713  appeared  Addison's  tragedy  of  "  Cato,"  the  first 
four  acts  of  which  had  been  written  years  before  in  Italy. 
It  was  only  at  the  urgent  solicitation  of  his  friends  that  he 
consented  to  its  representation  on  the  stage.  Its  success 
was  astonishing.  For  a  month  it  was  played  before 
crowded  houses.     Whigs  and  Tories  vied  with  each  other 


JOSEPH  ADDISON.  237 

in  its  praise,  applying  its  incidents  and  sentiments  to  cur- 
rent politics.  "  The  Whigs  applauded  every  line  in  which 
liberty  was  mentioned,  as  a  satire  on  the  Tories ;  and  the 
Tories  echoed  every  clap,  to  show  that  the  satire  was  un- 
felt."     It  was  translated  into  Italian  and  acted  at  Florence. 

On  its  publication,  however,  its  popularity  began  to 
abate.  It  was  savagely  attacked  by  Dennis.  Addison 
was  too  amiable  to  write  a  reply.  Pope,  however,  assailed 
the  furious  critic,  but  left  the  objections  to  the  play  in  full 
force.  It  is  probable  that  he  was  more  desirous  of  scourg- 
ing Dennis  than  of  vindicating  Addison.  At  all  events, 
Addison  did  not  approve  of  the  bitterness  of  Pope's  reply, 
disclaimed  all  responsibility  for  it,  and  caused  Dennis  to 
be  informed  that  whenever  he  thought  fit  to  answer,  he 
would  do  it  in  the  manner  of  a  gentleman.  Of  course 
Pope  was  mortified  ;  and  it  is  to  this  transaction  that  his 
dislike  of  Addison  is  probably  to  be  traced. 

"  Cato  "  conforms  to  the  classic  unities  and  abounds  in 
noble  sentiment.  But  it  is  lacking  in  high  poetic  or 
dramatic  interest.  A  scene  in  the  fifth  act,  which  repre- 
sents Cato  alone,  sitting  in  a  thoughtful  posture  with 
Plato's  "  Immortality  of  the  Soul "  in  his  hand,  and  a 
drawn  sword  on  the  table  by  him,  is  well  known  :  — 

"  It  must  be  so  —  Plato,  thou  reason'st  well  !  — 
Else  whence  this  pleasing  hope,  this  fond  desire,        " 
This  longing  after  immortality  ? 
Or  whence  this  secret  dread,  and  inward  horror, 
Of  falling  into  nought  ?  why  shrinks  the  soul 
Back  on  herself,  and  startles  at  destruction  ? 
'Tis  the  divinity  that  stirs  within  us  ; 
'Tis  heaven  itself,  that  points  out  an  hereafter, 
And  intimates  eternity  to  man. 


238  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Eternity  !  thou  pleasing,  dreadful  thought ! 

Through  what  variety  of  untried  being, 

Through  what  new  scenes  and  changes  must  we  pass  ? 

The  wide,  th'  unbounded  prospect  lies  before  me ; 

But  shadows,  clouds,  and  darkness  rest  upon  it. 

Here  will  I  hold.     If  there's  a  power  above  us, 

(And  that  there  is  all  nature  cries  aloud 

Through  all  her  works.)  he  must  delight  in  virtue ; 

And  that  which  he  delights  in,  must  be  happy. 

But  when  !  or  where  !  — This  world  was  made  for  Cjesar. 

I'm  weary  of  conjectures.  —  This  must  end  them. 

\_Laying  his  hand  on  his  sword.'] 
Thus  am  I  doubly  armed ;  my  death  and  life, 
My  bane  and  antidote  are  both  before  me : 
This  in  a  moment  brings  me  to  an  end ; 
But  this  informs  me  I  shall  never  die. 
The  soul,  secured  in  her  existence,  smiles 
At  the  drawn  dagger,  and  defies  its  point. 
The  stars  shall  fade  away,  the  sun  himself 
Grow  dim  with  age,  and  nature  sink  in  years ; 
But  thou  shalt  flourish  in  immortal  youth, 
Unhurt  amidst  the  wars  of  elements. 
The  wrecks  of  matter,  and  the  crush  of  worlds." 

In  1 716,  after  a  long  courtship,  Addison  married  Lady 
Warwick.  She  was  a  woman  of  much  beauty,  but  also  of 
proud  and  imperious  temper.  The  rnarriage,  it  seems,  did 
not  add  to  his  happiness.  According  to  Dr.  Johnson, 
the  lady  married  him  "  on  terms  much  like  those  on  which 
a  Turkish  princess  is  espoused,  to  whom  the  Sultan  is 
reported  to  pronounce,  '  Daughter,  I  give  thee  this  man 
for  thy  slave.'  "  His  domestic  infelicity  caused  him  to 
seek  more  frequently  the  pleasures  of  the  coffee-house. 
His  fondness  for  wine  likewise  increased. 

The  year  after  his  marriage  he  reached  the  summit  of 


JOSEPH  ADDISON.  239 

his  political  career  as  Secretary  of  State.  But  his  health 
soon  failed ;  and  after  holding  office  for  eleven  months, 
he  resigned  on  a  pension  of  fifteen  hundred  pounds.  His 
complaint  ended  in  dropsy.  A  shadow  was  cast  over  the 
last  years  of  his  life  by  a  quarrel  with  Steele,  arising  from 
a  difference  of  political  views.  He  died  June  17,  1719. 
His  last  moments  were  perfectly  serene.  To  his  stepson 
he  said,  "See  how  a  Christian  can  die."  His  piety  was 
sincere  and  deep.  All  nature  spoke  to  him  of  God ;  and 
the  Psalmist's  declaration  that  "  the  heavens  declare  the 
glory  of  God,"  he  wrought  into  a  magnificent  hymn:  — 

"The  spacious  firmament  on  high, 
With  all  the  blue  ethereal  sky, 
And  spangled  heavens,  a  shining  frame, 
Their  great  Original  proclaim." 

Speaking  of  this  hymn,  Thackeray  says :  "  It  seems  to 
me  those  verses  shine  hke  the  stars.  They  shine  out  of  a 
great  deep  calm.  When  he  turns  to  Heaven,  a  Sabbath 
comes  over  that  man's  mind  ;  and  his  face  lights  up  from 
it  with  a  glory  of  thanks  and  prayer.  His  sense  of 
religion  stirs  through  his  whole  being.  In  the  fields,  in 
the  town ;  looking  at  the  birds  in  the  trees  ;  at  the  chil- 
dren in  the  streets ;  in  the  morning  or  in  the  moonlight ; 
over  his  books  in  his  own  room  ;  in  a  happy  party  at  a 
country  merry-making  or  a  town  assembly  :  good-will  and 
peace  to  God's  creatures,  and  love  and  awe  of  Him  who 
made  them,  fill  his  pure  heart  and  shine  from  his  kind 
face.  If  Swift's  life  was  the  most  wretched,  I  think 
Addison's  was  one  of  the  most  enviable.  A  life  prosper- 
ous and  beautiful  —  a  calm  death  —  an  immense  fame  and 
affection  afterward  for  his  happy  and  spotless  name." 


240  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


,/  6  rr    /  7  y  ^ 

ALEXANDER   POPE. 

The  greatest  literary  character  of  this  period  is  Alex- 
ander Pope.  In  his  life  we  find  much  to  admire  and 
much  to  condemn;  but  we  cannot  deny  him  the  tribute  of  , 
greatness.  With  his  spiteful  temper  and  habitual  artifice,  '*' 
we  can  have  no  sympathy ;  but  we  recognize  in  him  the 
power  of  an  indomitable  will  supported  by  genius  and 
directed  to  a  single  object. 

He  triumphed  over  the  most  adverse  circumstances.  A 
lowly  birth  cut  him  off  from  social  position  ;  his  Roman 
Catholic  faith  brought  political  ostracism  ;  and  a  dwarfed, 
sickly,  deformed  body  excluded  him  from  the  vocations 
in  which  wealth  and  fame  are  usually  acquired.  Yet,  in 
spite  of  this  combination  of  hostile  circumstances,  he 
achieved  the  highest  liteiiary  distinction,  attracted  to  him 
the  most  eminent  men  of  his  day,  and  associated  on  terms 
of  equahty  with  the  proudest  nobility. 

Alexander  Pope  was  born  in  London  in  1688,  the 
memorable  year  of  the  Revolution.  His  father,  a  Roman 
Catholic,  was  a  linen  merchant;  and  shortly  after  the 
poet's  birth  he  retired  with  a  competent  fortune  to  a 
small  estate  at  Binfield  in  Windsor  Forest. 

Though  delicate  and  deformed,  the  future  poet  is  repre- 
sented as  having  been  a  sweet-tempered  child  ;  and  his 
voice  was  so  agreeable  that  he  was  playfully  called  the 
"little    nightingale."     E.xcluded    from  the  public   schools 


^ngraVfil  li^  J.  M.jw  liltiT  tllc  iiuuitili^  hy  A.  r..ir.l. 


J.    4^ 


ALEXANDER  POPE.  24 1 

on  account  of  his  father's  faith,  he  passed  successively 
under  the  tuition  of  three  or  four  Roman  priests,  from 
whom  he  learned  the  rudiments  of  Latin  and  Greek.  In 
after  years  he  thought  it  no  disadvantage  that  his  educa- 
tion had  been  irregular ;  for,  as  he  observed,  he  read  the 
classic  authors,  not  for  the  zvords  but  for  the  sense. 

At  the  age  of  twelve  he  formed  a  plan  of  study  for  him- 
self, and  plunged  into  the  delights  of  miscellaneous  read- 
ing with  such  ardor  that  he  came  near  putting  an  end  to 
his  life.  While  dipping  into  philosophy,  theology,  and 
history,  he  delighted  most  in  poetry  and  criticism  ;  and 
either  in  the  original  or  in  translations  (for  he  read  what 
was  easiest)  he  familiarized  himself  with  the  leading  poets 
and  critics  of  ancient  and  modern  times.  But  in  the  strict 
sense  of  the  term  he  never  became  a  scholar.  Seeing  all 
other  avenues  of  life  closed  to  him,  he  early  resolved  to 
devote  himself  to  poetry,  to  which  no  doubt  he  felt  the 
intuitive  impulse  of  genius.  He  showed  remarkable  pre- 
cocity in  rhyme.     In  his  own  language,  — 

"  As  yet  a  child,  nor  yet  a  fool  to  fame, 
I  lisp'd  in  numbers,  for  the  nmnbers  came." 

He  was  encouraged  in  his  early  attempts  by  his  father, 
who  assigned  him  subjects,  required  frequent  revisions, 
and  ended  with  the  encouragement,  "  These  are  good 
rhymes."  Before  venturing  before  the  public  as  an  au- 
thor, he  served  a  long  and  remarkable  apprenticeship  to 
poetry.  Whenever  a  passage  in  any  foreign  author  pleased 
him,  he  turned  it  into  English  verse.  Before  the  age  of 
fifteen  he  composed  an  epic  of  four  thousand  lines,  in 
which  he  endeavored,  in  different  passages,  to  imitate  the 


242  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

beauties  of  Milton,  Cowley,  Spenser,  Statins,  Homer,  Vir- 
gil, Ovid,  and  Claudian.  "  My  first  taking  to  imitating," 
he  says,  "  was  not  out  of  vanity,  but  humility.  I  saw  how 
defective  my  own  things  were,  and  endeavored  to  mend 
my  manner  by  copying  good  strokes  from  others." 

Among  English  authors  he  fixed  upon  Dryden  as  his 
model,  for  whom  he  felt  so  great  a  veneration  that  he  per- 
suaded some  friends  to  take  him  to  the  coffee-house  fre- 
quented by  that  distinguished  poet.  "  Who  does  not  wish," 
asks  Johnson,  "  that  Dryden  could  have  known  the  value 
of  the  homage  that  was  paid  him  and  foreseen  the  great- 
ness of  his  young  admirer  .''  " 

His  earliest  patron,  if  such  he  may  be  called,  was  Sir 
William  Trumbull,  who,  after  serving  as  ambassador  at 
Constantinople  under  James  H.,  and  as  Secretary  of  State 
under  William  HI.,  had  withdrawn  from  public  service 
and  fixed  his  residence  in  the  neighborhood  of  Binfield. 
The  extraordinary  precocity  of  the  youthful  poet  delighted 
the  aged  statesman,  who  was  accustomed  to  ride  and  dis- 
cuss the  classics  with  him.  It  was  from  him  that  Pope 
received  the  first  suggestion  to  translate  the  "Iliad." 

Another  acquaintance  belonging  to  this  youthful  period 
was  William  Walsh,  a  Worcestershire  gentleman  of  for- 
tune, who  had  some  reputation  at  the  time  as  a  poet  and 
critic.  From  him  the  ambitious  youth  received  a  bit  of 
advice  which  has  become  famous.  "  We  have  had  several 
great  poets,"  he  said,  "  but  we  have  never  had  one  great 
poet  who  was  correct ;  and  I  advise  you  to  make  that  your 
study  and  aim."     This  advice  Pope  evidently  laid  to  heart. 

At  this  time  he  made  also  the  acquaintance  of  Wycherly, 
whose  store  of  literary  anecdote  about  a  past  generation 


ALEXANDER  POPE.  .  243 

greatly  entertained  him.  Unfortunately,  however,  his  as- 
sistance was  asked  in  revising  some  of  Wycherly's  verses ; 
and  this  task  he  performed  with  so  much  conscientious- 
ness and  ability  —  cutting  out  here  and  adding  there  — 
that  the  aged  author  was  mortified  and  offended. 

At  tl\e  age  of  sixteen  Pope  circulated  some  "  Pastorals," 
which  were  pronounced  equal  to  anything  Virgil  had  pro- 
duced at  the  same  age.  Before  he  had  passed  his  teens 
he  was  recognized  as  the  most  promising  writer  of  his 
time  and  was  courted  by  the  leading  wits  and  people  of 
fashion. 

The  first  great  work  that  Pope  produced  was  the  "Essay 
on  Criticism,"  which  was  published  in  171 1.  It  was  writ- 
ten two  years  previously,  when  the  author  was  but  twenty- 
one  years  of  age.  As  was  his  custom  with  all  his  writings, 
he  kept  it  by  him  in  order  to  revise  and  polish  it. 

It  shows  a  critical  power  and  soundness  of  judgment 
that  usually  belong  only  to  age  and  experience.  It  is  true 
that  the  critical  principles  he  lays  down  are  not  original  or 
novel.  At  this  time  Pope  had  his  head  full  of  critical  lit- 
erature. Horace's  "Ars  Poetica"  and  Boileau's  "  L'Art 
Poetique  "  were  perfectly  familiar  to  him,  to  say  nothing 
of  QuintiUan  and  Aristotle.  He  embodied  in  his  poem 
the  principles  he  found  in  his  authorities.  But  he  did  this 
with  such  felicity  of  expression  and  aptness  of  illustration 
as  to  win  the  admiration,  not  only  of  his  contemporaries, 
but  also  of  succeeding  generations. 

"One  would  scarcely  ask,"  says  Leslie  Stephen,  "for 
originality  in  such  a  case,  any  more  than  one  would  desire 
a  writer  on  ethics  to  invent  new  laws  of  morality.  We 
require  neither  Pope  nor  Aristotle  to  tell  us  that   critics 


244  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

should  not  be  pert  nor  prejudiced  ;  that  fancy  should  be 
regulated  by  judgment ;  that  apparent  facility  comes  by 
long  training ;  that  the  sound  should  have  some  con- 
formity to  the  meaning ;  that  genius  is  often  envied ; 
and  that  dulness  is  frequently  beyond  the  reach  of  re- 
proof. We  might  even  guess,  without  the  authority  of 
Pope,  backed  by  Bacon,  that  there  are  some  beauties 
which  cannot  be  taught  by  method,  but  must  be  reached 
'by  a  kind  of  felicity.'"  Yet  these  commonplaces  of 
criticism  Pope  has  presented  in  inimitable  form,  ex- 
emplifying one  of  his  own  couplets :  — 

'•  True  wit  is  nature  to  advantage  dressed ; 
Wliat  oft  was  thought,  but  ne'er  so  well  expressed." 

The  "  Essay "  is  full  of  felicitous  statements  that  in- 
stantly command  the  assent  of  the  judgment  and  fix 
themselves  in  the  memory.  Some  of  the  lines  are  in 
daily  use.     Who  has  not  heard  that  — 

"  To  err  is  human  ;  to  forgive,  divine." 
And  also  — 

"  For  fools  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread." 

By  the  poet's  striking  presentation  we  are  sometimes 
tempted  to  accept  error  for  truth,  as  when  he  tell  us :  — 

"A  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing! 
Drink  deep,  or  taste  not  the  Pierian  spring." 

His  own  lines  often  furnish  a  happy  exemplification  of 
his  maxims.     He  tells  us,  for  instance  :  — 

"'Tis  not  enough  no  harshness  gives  offence, 
The  sound  must  seem  an  echo  to  the  sense." 


ALEXANDER   POPE.  245 

Then,  by  way  of  illustration,  he  continues :  — 

''  Soft  is  the  strain  when  Zephyr  gently  blows, 
And  the  smooth  stream  in  smoother  numbers  flows ; 
But  when  loud  surges  lash  the  sounding  shore. 
The  hoarse,  rough  verse  should  like  the  torrent  roar. 
When  Ajax  strives  some  rock's  vast  weight  to  throw, 
The  line,  too,  labors,  and  the  words  move  slow ; 
Not  so  when  swift  Camilla  scours  the  plain, 
Flies  o'er  th'  unbending  corn,  and  skims  along  the  main." 

But  the  poem  is  not  without  its  faults.  It  would  be  too 
much  to  expect  that ;  for,  as  he  says  :  — 

"  Whoever  thinks  a  faultless  piece  to  see, 
Thinks  what  ne'er  was,  nor  is,  nor  e'er  shall  be." 

Its  extreme  conciseness  renders  it  obscure  in  places ; 
words  are  sometimes  used  in  a  vague  and  variable  sense ; 
and  there  is  a  noticeable  poverty  of  rhymes,  "wit"  and 
"  sense  "  and  "  fools  "  being  badly  overworked.  Yet,  if 
he  had  written  nothing  else,  this  production  alone  would 
have  given  him  a  high  rank  as  critic  and  poet. 

The  publication  of  the  "  Essay  "  was  the  beginning  of  a 
ceaseless  strife  with  contemporary  writers.  In  the  follow- 
ing lines  the  youthful  poet  had  the  temerity  to  attack 
Dennis,  whose  acquaintance  we  made  in  the  sketch  of 
Addison  :  — 

"  But  Appius  reddens  at  each  word  you  speak. 
And  stares  tremendous  with  a  threatening  eye, 
Like  some  fierce  tyrant  in  old  tapestry." 

This  graphic  picture  inflamed  the  belligerent  Dennis, 
and  he  made  a  bitter  personal  attack  upon  Pope,  of 
whom,  among  other  savage  things,  he    says  :    "  He    may 


246  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

extol  the  ancients,  but  he  has  reason  to  thank  the  gods 
that  he  was  born  a  modern ;  for  had  he  been  of  Grecian 
parents,  and  his  father  consequently  had  by  law  had  the 
absolute  disposal  of  him,  his  life  had  been  no  longer  than 
that  of  one  of  his  poems  —  the  life  of  half  a  day." 

Though  Pope  affected  to  despise  these  attacks,  yet  his 
sensitive  nature  was  deeply  wounded  by  them.  To  some 
friends  he  remarked,  when  one  of  Gibber's  pamphlets 
came  into  his  hand,  "  These  things  are  my  diversion." 
But  they  noticed  that  his  features,  as  he  read,  writhed  with 
anguish ;  and  when  alone  one  of  them  expressed  the  hope 
that  he  might  be  preserved  from  such  diversion  as  had 
been  that  day  the  lot  of  Pope.  But,  as  we  shall  see,  his 
revenge  was  terrific. 

The  next  important  production  of  Pope  was  "  The  Rape 
of  the  Lock,"  published  in  1712.  It  is  the  most  brilliant 
mock-heroic  poem  ever  written.  The  subject  is  trifling 
enough.  Lord  Petre,  a  man  of  fashion  at  the  court  of 
Queen  Anne,  playfully  cut  off  a  lock  of  hair  from  the 
head  of  Miss  Arabella  Fermor,  a  beautiful  maid  of  honor. 
This  freedom  was  resented  by  the  lady,  and  the  friendly 
intercourse  of  the  two  families  was  interrupted.  To  put 
the  two  parties  into  good  humor,  and  thus  to  effect  a 
reconciliation,  Pope  devised  this  humorous  epic.  Sylphs, 
gnomes,  nymphs,  and  salamanders  form  a  part  of  the  deli- 
cate poetic  machinery.  Here  is  a  description  of  the  un- 
fortunate lock :  — 

"This  nymph,  to  the  destruction  of  mankind, 
Nourished  two  locks,  which  graceful  hung  behind 
In  equal  curls,  and  well  conspired  to  deck 
With  shining  ringlets  the  smooth  iv'ry  neck. 


ALEXANDER  POPE.  247 

Love  in  these  labyrinths  his  slaves  detains, 
And  mighty  hearts  are  held  in  slender  chains. 
With  hairy  springes  we  the  birds  betray ; 
^   Slight  lines  of  hair  surprise  the  finny  prey  ; 
Fair  tresses  man's  imperial  race  ensnare, 
And  beauty  draws  us  with  a  single  hair." 

Speaking  of  the  trifling  circumstances  that  gave  rise  to 
this  poem,  Roscoe  says :  "  To  Cowley  it  might  have  sug- 
gested some  quaint  witticisms  or  forced  allusions  ;  to  Waller 
or  Suckling,  a  metaphysical  song ;  Dryden  would  have 
celebrated  it  in  some  strong  lines,  remarkable  for  their 
poetical  spirit  and  perhaps  not  less  so  for  their  indelicacy ; 
while,  by  the  general  tribe  of  poets,  it  never  could  have 
been  extended  further  than  to  a  sweet  epigram  or  a  frigid 
sonnet.  What  is  it  in  the  hands  of  Pope  .-^  An  animated 
and  moving  picture  of  human  life  and  manners ;  a  lively 
representation  of  the  whims  and  follies  of  the  times ;  an 
important  contest,  in  which  we  find  ourselves  deeply  en- 
gaged ;  for  the  interest  is  so  supported,  the  manner  so  ludi- 
crously serious,  the  characters  so  marked  and  distinguished, 
the  resentment  of  the  heroine  so  natural,  and  the  triumph 
of  the  conqueror  so  complete,  that  we  unavoidably  partake 
the  emotions  of  the  parties  and  alternately  sympathize, 
approve,  or  condemn." 

In  1 71 3  Pope  undertook  the  translation  of  Homer's 
"  Iliad."  The  work  was  published  by  subscription ;  and 
as  he  had  already  gained  recognition  as  the  first  poet  of 
his  time,  the  enterprise  met  with  generous  encouragement. 
Among  other  influential  friends,  Swift  was  active  in  secur- 
ing subscriptions.  At  first  the  poet  was  appalled  at  the 
magnitude  of  his  undertaking,  and  wished,  to  use  his  own 


248  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

phrase,  that  somebody  would  hang  him.  But  facility  in- 
creased with  practice ;  and  his  defective  knowledge  of 
Greek  was  remedied  by  the  use  of  translations  and  the  aid 
of  scholarly  friends. 

This  translation,  in  connection  with  the  "  Odyssey,"  was 
his  principal  labor  for  twelve  years,  and  it  brought  a  re- 
muneration that  had  never  before  been  realized  by  an 
English  author.  He  received  altogether  about  eight  thou- 
sand pounds,  which  furnished  him  with  a  competency  the 
rest  of  his  life.  The  translation  is  wrought  out  with  ex- 
ceeding care ;  but  in  its  artificial  character,  it  is  far  from 
reproducing  the  simplicity  of  the  original.  It  brings 
Homer  before  us  in  a  dress-suit.  Bentley's  criticism  was 
exactly  to  the  point :  "  It  is  a  pretty  poem,  Mr.  Pope,  but 
you  must  not  call  it  Homer."  Yet  it  is  a  wonderful 
work ;  and  Johnson  was  not  far  wrong  when  he  said, 
"  It  is  certainly  the  noblest  version  of  poetry  which  the 
world  has  ever  seen,  and  its  publication  must  therefore' be 
considered  as  one  of  the  great  events  in  the  annals  of 
learning." 

In  the  sketch  of  Addison  reference  was  made  to  the  ill- 
feeling  existing  between  the  illustrious  essayist  and  Pope. 
It  came  to  an  open  rupture  in  connection  with  the  publica- 
tion of  the  "  IHad."  Tickell,  a  friend  of  Addison's,  under- 
took a  rival  translation.  He  had  Addison's  encouragement 
and  perhaps  also  his  assistance.  It  is  possible  that  the 
essayist  felt  some  jealousy  of  the  rising  reputation  of  the 
poet,  and  used  his  influence,  in  a  civil  way,  to  depreciate 
the  latter's  work.  At  all  events,  news  of  this  sort  came  to 
Pope;  and  "the  next  day,"  he  says,  "while  I  was  heated 
with  what  I  had  heard,  I  wrote  a  letter  to  Mr.  Addison,  to 


ALEXANDER  POPE.  249 

let  him  know  that  I  was  not  unacquainted  with  this  be- 
havior of  his ;  that  if  I  was  to  speak  severely  of  him, 
in  return  for  it,  it  should  not  be  in  such  a  dirty  way ;  that 
I  should  rather  tell  him,  himself,  fairly  of  his  faults,  and 
allow  his  good  qualities ;  and  that  it  should  be  something 
in  the  following  manner."  He  then  added  what  has  since 
become  the  famous  satire  on  Addison,  in  which  the  lack  of 
justice  is  made  up  by  brilliancy  of  wit :  — 

"  Peace  to  all  such ;  but  were  there  one  whose  fires 
True  genius  kindles  and  fair  fame  inspires ; 
Blest  with  each  talent  and  each  art  to  please. 
And  born  to  write,  converse,  and  Hve  with  ease ; 
Should  such  a  man,  too  fond  to  rule  alone. 
Bear  like  the  Turk  no  brother  near  the  throne, 
View  him  with  scornful  yet  with  jealous  eyes, 
And  hate  for  arts  that  caused  himself  to  rise, 
Damn  with  faint  praise,  assent  with  civil  leer, 
And,  without  sneering,  teach  the  rest  to  sneer ; 
Willing  to  wound  and  yet  afraid  to  strike. 
Just  hint  a  fault  and  hesitate  dislike, 
Alike  reserved  to  blame  or  to  commend, 
A  timorous  foe  and  a  suspicious  friend ; 
Dreading  e'en  fools,  by  flatterers  besieged. 
And  so  obliging  that  he  ne'er  obliged ; 
Like  Cato  give  his  little  Senate  laws. 
And  sit  attentive  to  his  own  applause. 
While  wits  and  templars  every  sentence  raise, 
And  wonder  with  a  foolish  face  of  praise ;  — 
Who  but  must  laugh  if  such  a  man  there  be? 
Who  would  not  weep  if  Atticus  were  he?" 

After  becoming  independent  from  the  proceeds  of  his 
Homeric  translations,  Pope  removed  to  the  villa  of  Twick- 
enham, where  he  spent  the  remainder  of  his  life.     Here 


250  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

he  received  his  friends,  who  were  among  the  most  pol- 
ished men  of  the  time.  Gay,  Arbuthnot,  BoHngbroke, 
Peterborough,  Swift,  were  all  warmly  attached  to  him  — 
"the  most  brilliant  company  of  friends,"  says  Thackeray, 
"that  the  world  has  ever  seen." 

We  should  not  forget  the  filial  piety  he  showed  his  par- 
ents—  one  of  the  most  beautiful  features  of  the  poet's  life. 
However  spiteful,  acrimonious,  and  exacting  toward  others, 
to  his  mother  he  was  always  tender,  considerate,  patient. 
In  her  old  age  he  stayed  by  her,  denying  himself  the 
pleasure  of  long  visits  and  foreign  travel.  While  conven- 
tionally courteous  and  formal  in  his  relations  to  other 
women,  for  whom,  after  the  fashion  of  the  time,  he 
seemed  to  entertain  no  high  opinion,  he  was  simple  and 
unaffected  toward  her.  And  when  she  died,  he  spoke  of 
her  with  peculiar  tenderness :  "  I  thank  God,  her  death 
was  as  easy  as  her  life  was  innocent ;  and  as  it  cost  her  not 
a  groan,  or  even  a  sigh,  there  is  yet  upon  her  countenance 
such  an  expression  of  tranquillity,  nay,  almost  of  pleasure, 
that  it  is  even  enviable  to  behold  it.  It  would  afford  the 
finest  image  of  a  saint  expired  that  ever  painter  drew." 

As  soon  as  Homer  was  off  his  hands,  he  proceeded  to 
get  even  with  the  critics  who  had  attacked  his  previous 
writings.  The  result  was  the  "Dunciad,"  the  most  elabo- 
rate satirical  performance  in  our  language,  which  was  given 
to  the  pubHc  in  1728. 

We  cannot  think  that,  as  he  claims,  his  object  was  "  do- 
ing good"  by  exposing  ignorant  and  pretentious  authors; 
from  what  we  know  of  his  character,  we  are  justified  in 
supposing  that  personal  pique  animated  him  no  less  than 
zeal  for  the  honor  of  literature.    Theobald,  whose  grievous 


ALEXANDER  POPE.  2$  I 

offence  was  surpassing  Pope  in  editing  Shakespeare,  is 
elevated  to  the  throne  of  Dulness,  though  he  is  afterward 
deposed  to  make  place  for  Gibber. 

"  On  the  day  the  book  was  iirst  vended,"  Pope  tells  us, 
"  a  crowd  of  authors  besieged  the  shop ;  entreaties,  ad- 
vices, threats  of  law  and  battery,  nay,  cries  of  treason, 
were  all  employed  to  hinder  the  coming  out  of  the  '  Dun- 
ciad ' ;  on  the  other  side,  the  booksellers  and  hawkers 
made  as  great  efforts  to  procure  it.  What  could  a  few 
poor  authors  do  against  so  great  a  majority  as  the  public.'' 
There  was  no  stopping  a  torrent  with  a  finger,  so  out  it 
came." 

The  satire  had  the  desired  effect ;  it  blasted  the  charac- 
ters it  touched.  One  of  the  victims  complained  that  for 
a  time  he  was  in  danger  of  starving,  as  the  publishers  had 
no  longer  any  confidence  in  his  ability.  The  poem  is  not 
interesting  as  a  whole,  but  contains  many  splendid  flights, 
as  in  the  concluding  lines,  which  describe  the  eclipse  of 
learning  and  morality  under  the  darkening  reign  of  ad- 
vancing; Dulness  :. — 


'& 


"  She  comes  !  she  comes  !  the  sable  throne  behold 
Of  Night  primeval,  and  of  Chaos  old  ! 
Before  her  Fancy's  gilded  clouds  decay, 
And  all  its  varying  rainbows  die  away. 
Wit  shoots  in  vain  its  momentary  fires. 
The  meteor  drops,  and  in  a  flash  expires. 
As  one  by  one,  at  dread  IVIedea's  strain. 
The  sickening  stars  fade  off  th'  ethereal  plain  ; 
As  Argus'  eyes,  by  Hermes'  wand  oppressed, 
Closed  one  by  one  to  everlasting  rest ; 
Thus  at  her  felt  approach,  and  secret  might, 
Art  after  art  goes  out,  and  all  is  night ; 


252  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

See  skulking  Truth  to  her  old  cavern  fled, 
Mountains  of  casuistry  heaped  o''er  her  head  ! 
Philosophy,  that  lean'd  on  Heaven  before, 
Shrinks  to  her  second  cause,  and  is  no  more. 
Physic  of  Metaphysic  begs  defence. 
And  Metaphysic  calls  for  aid  on  Sense  ! 
See  Mystery  to  Mathematics  fly  ! 
In  vain,  they  gaze,  turn  giddy,  rave,  and  die. 
Religion,  blushing,  veils  her  sacred  fires, 
And  unawares  Morality  expires. 
Nor  public  flame,  nor  private  dares  to  shine ; 
Nor  human  spark  is  left,  nor  ghmpse  divine. 
Lo,  thy  dread  empire.  Chaos  !  is  restored ; 
Light  dies  before  thy  uncreating  word  : 
Thy  hand,  great  Anarch,  lets  the  curtain  fall, 
And  universal  darkness  buries  all." 

This  is,  indeed,  a  fine  passage,  repaying  careful  study ; 
but  it  hardly  deserves  the  extravagant  praise  bestowed 
upon  it  by  Thackeray.  "  In  these  astonishing  lines,"  he 
says,  "  Pope  reaches,  I  think,  to  the  very  greatest  height 
which  his  sublime  art  has  attained,  and  shows  himself  the 
equal  of  all  poets  of  all  times.  It  is  th.e  brightest  ardor, 
the  loftiest  assertion  of  truth,  the  most  generous  wisdom, 
illustrated  by  the  noblest  poetic  figure,  and  spoken  in  words 
the  aptest,  grandest,  and  most  harmonious.  It  is  heroic 
courage  speaking ;  a  splendid  declaration  of  righteous 
wrath  and  war.  It  is  the  gage  flung  down,  and  the  silver 
trumpet  ringing  defiance  to  falsehood  and  tyranny,  deceit, 
dulness,  superstition." 

The  "  Essay  on  Man,"  his  noblest  work,  appeared  in 
1733.  It  consists  of  four  "Epistles":  the  first  treats  of 
man  in  relation  to  the  universe  ;  the  second,  in  relation  to 
himself ;  the  third,  in  relation  to  society ;  and  the  fourth, 


ALEXANDER  POPE.  253 

in  relation  to  happiness.  The  "  Epistles  "  are  addressed 
to  Bolingbroke,  by  whom  the  "  Essay  "  was  suggested,  and 
from  whom  many  of  its  principles  proceeded.  It  is  not  so 
much  a  treatise  on  man  as  on  the  moral  government  of  the 
world.     Its  general  purpose  is  to  — 

"  Vindicate  the  ways  of  God  to  man." 

This  is  done  by  an  application  of  the  principles  of  natu- 
ral religion  to  the  origin  of  evil,  the  wisdom  of  the  Creator, 
and  the  constitution  of  the  world.  But,  as  a  whole,  the 
"  Essay  "  does  not  present  a  consistent  and  logical  system 
of  teaching.  Pope  was  not  master  of  the  deep  theme  he 
had  undertaken  ;  and  he  was  content  to  pick  up  in  various 
authors  whatever  he  could  fit  into  his  general  plan.  On 
the  one  hand  he  was  attacked  for  having  written  against 
religion.  Certainly  moral  responsibility  disappears  if  we 
accept  his  declaration  :  — 

"  One  truth  is  clear ;  whatever  is,  is  right." 

On  the  other  hand,  Warburton  came  forward  to  defend 
his  orthodoxy ;  and  his  championship  was  gratefully  ac- 
cepted by  the  poet.  "  You  have  made  my  system,"  Pope 
wrote  to  him,  "  as  clear  as  I  ought  to  have  done,  and  could 
not.  ...  I  know  I  meant  just  what  you  explain,  but  I 
did  not  explain  my  own  meaning  as  well  as  you.  You  un- 
derstand me  as  well  as  I  do  myself,  but  you  express  me 
better  than  I  could  express  myself." 

When,  however,  we  turn  from  the  whole  to  the  separate 
parts,  we  are  astonished  at  the  marvellous  expression  and 
inimitable  form.  We  may  call  it,  with  Dugald  Stewart, 
"the  noblest  specimen  of  philosophical  poetry  which  our 


254  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

language  affords."  Single  truths  have  never  had  more 
splendid  statement.  Here  is  his  ampUfication  of  the  truth 
that  all  things  exist  in  God  :  — 

"  All  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole, 
Whose  body  Nature  is,  and  God  the  soul ; 
That,  changed  through  all,  and  yet  in  all  the  same, 
Great  in  the  earth,  as  in  th'  ethereal  frame. 
Warms  in  the  sun,  refreshes  in  the  breeze. 
Glows  in  the  stars,  and  blossoms  in  the  trees ; 
Lives  through  all  life,  extends  through  all  extent, 
Spreads  undivided,  operates  unspent ; 
Breathes  in  our  soul,  informs  our  mortal  part, 
As  full,  as  perfect,  in  a  hair  as  heart ; 
As  full,  as  perfect,  in  vile  man  that  mourns. 
As  the  rapt  seraph  that  adores  and  burns  : 
To  him  no  high,  no  low,  no  great,  no  small ; 
He  fills,  he  bounds,  connects,  and  equals  all." 

The  religion  of  nature,  as  seen  in  the  savage,  has  never 
had  better  expression  than  this  :  — 

"  Lo,  the  poor  Indian  !  whose  untutorM  mind 
Sees  God  in  clouds,  or  hears  him  in  the  wind ; 
His  soul  proud  science  never  taught  to  stray 
Far  as  the  solar  walk,  or  milky  way  ; 
Yet  simple  nature  to  his  hope  has  given. 
Behind  the  cloud-topp'd  hill  an  humbler  heaven; 
Some  safer  world  in  depth  of  woods  embraced, 
Some  happier  island  in  the  watery  waste. 
Where  slaves  once  more  their  native  land  behold, 
No  fiends  torment,  no  Christians  thirst  for  gold. 
To  be  contents  his  natural  desire. 
He  asks  no  angel's  wings,  no  seraph's  fire ; 
But  thinks,  admitted  to  that  equal  sky, 
His  faithful  dog  shall  bear  him  company." 


ALEXANDER  POPE.  255 

Pope  died  in  1744.  A  few  days  before  his  death  he  be- 
came delirious.  On  recovering  his  rationality,  he  referred 
to  his  delirium  as  a  sufficient  humiliation  of  the  vanity  of 
man.  Bolingbroke  was  told  that  during  his  last  illness 
Pope  was  always  saying  something  kind  of  his  present  or 
absent  friends,  and  that  his  humanity  seemed  to  have  sur- 
vived his  understanding.  "  It  has  so,"  replied  the  states- 
man ;  "  and  I  never  in  my  life  knew  a  man  that  had  so 
tender  a  heart  for  his  particular  friends,  or  more  general 
friendship  for  mankind." 

As  the  end  drew  near,  Pope  was  asked  whether  a  priest 
should  not  be  called.  He  replied,  "  I  do  not  think  it  es- 
sential, but  it  will  be  very  right ;  and  I  thank  you  for  put- 
ting me  in  mind  of  it."  He  had  undoubting  confidence  in 
a  future  state.  Shortly  after  receiving  the  sacrament,  he 
said  :  "  There  is  nothing  that  is  meritorious  but  virtue  and 
friendship,  and  indeed  friendship  itself  is  only  a  part  of 
virtue."     He  lies  buried  at  Twickenham. 

In  appearance  he  was  the  most  insignificant  of  English 
writers.  He  was  a  dwarf,  four  feet  high,  hunch-backed, 
and  so  crooked  that  he  was  called  the  "  Interrogation 
Point."  His  life  was  one  long  disease.  He  required  help 
in  dressing  and  undressing ;  and  to  keep  erect,  he  had  to 
encase  his  body  in  stays.  Extremely  sensitive  to  cold,  he 
wore  three  or  four  times  the  usual  amount  of  clothing. 
But  his  face  was  pleasing,  his  voice  agreeable,  and  his 
eyes  especially  were  beautiful  and  expressive.  He  was 
fastidious  in  dress  and  elegant  in  manner.  As  might 
naturally  be  expected,  he  was  punctilious  and  trouble- 
some, requiring  so  much  attention  that  he  was  the  dread 
of  servants.      Fond  of  highly  seasoned  dishes,  and  unable 


256  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

to  control  his  appetite,  he  frequently  made  himself  sick 
by  overeating. 

He  was  singularly  lacking  in  manly  frankness,  seek- 
ing always  to  attain  his  ends  by  artifice.  It  was  said 
of  him  that  he  hardly  drank  tea  without  stratagem ; 
and  Lady  Bolingbroke  used  to  say  that  "  he  played 
the  politician  about  cabbages  and  turnips."  But  he  car- 
ried his  artifice  to  higher  matters  and  manipulated  his 
correspondence  and  his  writings  in  the  interest  of  his 
reputation. 

His  character  was  full  of  contradictions.  While  pro- 
fessing to  disregard  fame,  he  courted  it ;  while  affecting 
superiority  to  the  great,  he  took  pleasure  in  enumerating 
the  men  of  high  rank  among  his  acquaintances ;  while 
appearing  indifferent  to  his  own  poetry,  saying  that  he 
wrote  when  "he  just  had  nothing  else  to  do,"  he  was 
always  revolving  some  poetical  scheme  in  his  head,  so 
that,  as  Swift  complained,  he  was  never  at  leisure  for 
conversation ;  and  while  pretending  insensibility  to  cen- 
sure, he  writhed  under  the  attacks  of  critics.  Yet  it  is 
to  his  credit  that  he  never  put  up  his  genius  to  the 
highest  bidder,  and  that  he  never  indulged  in  base  flattery 
for  selfish  ends.  His  translation  of  the  "  IHad  "  he  dedi- 
cated, not  to  influential  statesmen  or  titled  nobility,  but  to 
the  second-rate  dramatist,  Congreve.  In  his  view  of  life 
he  fixed  his  attention  upon  its  petty  features,  forgetting 
the  divine  and  eternal  relations  that  give  it  dignity  and 
worth.  There  is  truth  in  the  following  lines,  but  it  is 
only  one-sided :  — 

"  Behold  the  child,  by  nature's  kindly  law, 
Pleased  with  a  rattle,  tickled  with  a  straw : 


ALEXANDER  POPE.  2^7 

Some  livelier  plaything  gives  his  youth  delight, 
A  little  louder,  but  as  empty  quite ; 
Scarfs,  garters,  gold,  amuse  his  riper  age, 
And  beads  and  prayer-books  are  the  toys  of  age ; 
Pleased  with  this  bauble  still,  as  that  before, 
Till  tired  he  sleeps,  and  life's  poor  play  is  o'er."' 

Virtue,  love,  divine  stewardship,  and  eternal  life  take 
away  this  pettiness  and  give  our  existence  here  beauty 
and  grandeur. 

As  a  poet,  it  is  too  much  to  claim  that  his  verses  at- 
tained the  highest  imaginative  flights,  such  as  we  find  in 
Shakespeare  and  Tennyson.  He  was  not  swayed  by  the 
fine  frenzy,  the  overmastering  convictions,  and  the  tor- 
menting passions  that  irresistibly  force  an  utterance.  He 
conformed  his  writings  to  a  conventional  form.  He  sought 
above  all,  in  imitation  of  classical  models,  correttness  of 
style.  And,  in  the  words  of  James  Russell  Lowell,  "in 
his  own  province  he  still  stands  unapproachably  alone.  If 
to  be  the  greatest  satirist  of  individual  men,  rather  than 
of  human  nature,  if  to  be  the  highest  expression  which 
the  life  of  the  court  and  the  ballroom  has  ever  found  in 
verse,  if  to  have  added  more  phrases  to  our  language  than 
any  other  but  Shakespeare,  if  to  have  charmed  four  gen- 
erations, make  a  man  a  great  poet  —  then  he  is  one.  He 
was  the  chief  founder  of  an  artificial  style  of  writing, 
which  in  his  hands  was  living  and  powerful,  because  he 
used  it  to  express  artificial  modes  of  thinking  and  an 
artificial  state  of  society.  Measured  by  any  high  stand- 
ard of  imagination,  he  will  be  found  wanting;  tried  by 
the  test  of  wit,  he  is  unrivalled." 


258  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


JONATHAN   SWIFT. 


Of  Swift  as  a  writer  there  can  hardly  be  more  than  one 
opinion.  In  originality  and  power  he  excelled  all  the 
writers  of  his  day.  His  genius  expressed  itself  in  new 
and  imperishable  forms ;  and  though  much  that  he  has 
written,  especially  in  verse,  is  unworthy  of  him,  his  "Tale 
of  a  Tub,"  his ."  Gulliver's  Travels,"  and  his  "Journal  to 
Stella  "  will  endure  as  long  as  the  English  language  itself. 
No  one  else  was  more  dreaded  as  an  antagonist.  "  We 
were  determined  to  have  you  on  our  side,"  the  Tory  leader 
Bolingbrbke  said  to  him  ;  "  you  were  the  only  one  we  were 
afraid  of."  During  the  last  years  of  Queen  Anne's  reign 
he  was  the  chief  literary  support  of  the  Tory  administra- 
tion ;  and  more  than  any  one  else,  it  has  been  said,  he 
formed  the  political  opinions  of  the  English  nation. 

But  of  Swift  as  a  man  it  is  not  easy  to  form  a  satis- 
factory estimate.  His  character  exhibited  contradictory 
qualities.  In  spite  of  the  labors  of  numerous  biographers 
and  critics,  he  still,  in  some  measure,  remains  an  enigma. 
He  was  not  a  model  of  amiable  temper  or  lofty  purpose, 
and  his  career  is  full  of  striking  and  unpardonable  faults. 
Yet  that  he  was  a  monster  of  selfishness,  hatred,  and 
iniquity,  as  some  have  maintained,  we  cannot  beHeve.  He 
had  the  clear  vision  of  a  powerful  mind.  He  saw  through 
the  shams  and  hypocrisies  by  which  he  was  surrounded ; 
and  what  has  often  been  taken  for  heartless  misanthropy 


After  the  painting  by  Bincloii. 


J^-.    /%5K^,-    5*^ 


JONATHAN  SWIFT.  259 

was  in  reality  an  honest  heroism  which  waged  a  thank- 
less war  on  humbug  and  villainy.  That  he  often  went 
too  far,  that  he  was  often  coarse  and  terrible,  cannot  be 
denied  or  condoned.  In  his  later  years  real  or  fancied 
wrongs  goaded  his  proud,  imperious  nature  into  reckless 
fury. 

Jonathan  Swift  was  born  in  Dublin  in  1667,  though  his 
parents  were  EngHsh.  Owing  to  the  death  of  his  father, 
his  childhood  and  youth  were  spent  under  the  embarrass- 
ments of  poverty  and  dependence.  The  seemingly  grudg- 
ing manner  in  which  he  was  supported  by  his  relatives, 
especially  by  his  uncle  Godwin,  kindled  a  resentment 
that  he  never  laid  aside.  Gratitude  was  not  a  marked 
feature  of  his  character.  "  Was  it  not  your  uncle  God- 
win," he  was  once  asked,  "who  educated  you.-'"  "  Yes," 
replied  Swift  after  a  pause,  "  he  gave  me  the  education  of 
a  dog."  "Then,"  replied  the  inquirer  with  great  intrepidity, 
"  you  have  not  the  gratitude  of  a  dog." 

In  1682  he  entered  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  but  did  not 
apply  himself  assiduously  to  the  course  of  study.  His 
own  account  of  his  college  life  presents  the  facts  in  as 
favorable  a  manner  as  they  will  bear.  "  He  was  so  dis- 
couraged and  sunk  in  his  spirits,"  he  says,  "that  he  too 
much  neglected  his  academic  studies,  for  some  parts  of 
which  he  had  no  great  relish  by  nature,  and  turned  himself 
to  reading  history  and  poetry,  so  that  when  the  time  came 
for  taking  his  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts,  although  he 
had  lived  with  great  regularity  and  due  observance  of  the 
statutes,  he  was  stopped  of  his  degree  for  dulness  and 
insufficiency ;  and  at  last  hardly  admitted  in  a  manner 
little  to  his  credit,  which  is  called  in  that  college  spcciali 


260  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

gratia^  There  is  sufificient  reason  to  believe  that  the 
"great  regularity"  which  he  ascribes  to  his  life  at  this 
period  is  due  chiefly  to  the  distance  from  which  the  facts 
are  viewed. 

After  leaving  the  university  in  1688,  Swift  entered  the 
family  of  Sir  William  Temple,  a  distinguished  statesman 
and  writer,  with  whom  he  spent,  except  two  brief  intervals, 
the  next  ten  years  of  his  life.  Here  he  was  initiated  into 
politics  and  made  the  acquaintance  of  King  William,  by 
whom  he  was  offered  a  troop  of  horse.  He  was  once  sent 
by  Temple  with  a  confidential  communication  to  the  king 
and  used  all  his  skill  to  enforce  his  patron's  views.  But 
the  king's  mind  was  made  up  ;  and  this  failure  to  carry 
his  point  Swift  was  wont  to  refer  to  as  the  first  incident 
that  helped  to  cure  him  of  vanity.  He  improved  his  time 
by  laborious  study,  reading,  it  is  said,  eight  hours  a  day. 
At  length  he  took  orders  and  obtained  a  small  living  in 
Ireland;  but  finding  a  remote  country  parish  more  irksome 
than  his  previous  position,  he  returned  to  Sir  William 
Temple's  and  remained  there  till  that  nobleman's  death 
in  1699.  He  edited  the  works  of  his  patron  and  dedicated 
them  to  William  HI.,  in  the  hope  of  receiving  some  prefer- 
ment ;  but  in  this,  as  in  so  many  other  cases,  he  suffered 
disappointment. 

While  living  in  the  house  of  Sir  William  Temple,  Swift 
composed  his  first  important  work,  "  The  Battle  of  the 
Books."  At  this  time  the  relative  merits  of  ancient  and 
modern  authors  was  being  debated  in  France  and  England. 
Temple  had  espoused  the  cause  of  the  ancients  with  more 
zeal  than  learning;  and  as  he  had  fared  badly  at  the  hands 
of   Wotton   and   Bentley,  —  the   latter  the    most   eminent 


JONATHAN  SWIFT.  26 1 

scholar  of  his  day,  —  Swift  came  to  his  patron's  defence  in 
a  satirical  production,  giving  "a  full  and  true  account  of 
the  battle  fought  last  Friday  between  the  ancient  and  the 
modern  books  in  St.  James's  library."  It  is  a  prose  imita- 
tion of  Homer's  style  in  the  "  Iliad."  Of  course  he  makes 
the  victory  incline  to  the  side  of  the  ancients ;  and  Bentley 
and  Wotton  are  left  on  the  field  transfixed  by  the  same 
spear.  This  work  was  not  published  till  1704,  though 
written  several  years  previously. 

In  1699  Swift  went  to  Ireland  as  chaplain  to  Lord  Berke- 
ley, who  was  appointed  one  of  the  lord  justices  of  that  king- 
dom. He  complained,  not  unjustly,  of  that  nobleman's 
unkindness  to  him  in  bestowing  preferments.  Swift  was 
put  off  with  the  unimportant  vicarage  of  Laracor.  Not- 
withstanding his  disappointment,  he  discharged  his  duties 
faithfully  under  discouraging  circumstances.  His  congre- 
gations averaged  only  half  a  score.  On  one  occasion  there 
was  no  person  present  but  his  clerk  Roger ;  with  grim 
humor  Swift  began :  "  Dearly  beloved  Roger,  the  Scripture 
moveth  you  and  me  in  sundry  places,"  etc.,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded regularly  through  the  whole  service.  For  a  time  he 
had  the  ambition  to  excel  as  a  preacher ;  but  he  afterward 
lost  confidence  in  his  oratorical  ability  and  declared  that 
his  sermons  were  only  pamphlets.  Some  years  before  his 
death,  he  gave  his  entire  collection  to  Dr.  Sheridan  with 
the  remark,  "  They  may  be  of  use  to  you,  they  have  never 
been  of  any  to  me."  But  an  examination  of  his  discourses 
shows  that  he  unduly  depreciated  them.  While  they  are 
lacking  in  oratorical  fervor,  they  are  clear  and  strong  pres- 
entations of  moral  and  religious  truth,  reflecting  no  dis- 
credit on  the  author's  ability  or  piety. 


262  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Swift  sought  preferment  through  a  good  part  of  his  life. 
His  heart  was  long  set  on  a  bishopric.  Had  he  been  a 
man  of  less  genius  and  less  independence,  his  ambition 
might  have  been  gratified.  But  he  could  not  be  counted 
on  to  pull  steadily  in  party  traces ;  and  while  feared  by 
his  enemies,  he  was  never  fully  trusted  by  his  friends.  He 
was  first  a  Whig ;  then  he  turned  Tory,  and  mercilessly 
lashed  his  former  party  associates.  In  proud  conscious- 
ness of  his  power,  he  was  exacting  and  imperious  in  his 
relations  with  the  great.  "  I  generally  am  acquainted  with 
about  thirty  in  the  drawing-room,"  he  writes  to  Stella,  "  and 
am  so  proud  that  I  make  all  the  lords  come  up  to  me." 
He  once  demanded  an  apology  of  the  prime  minister,  and 
having  obtained  it,  he  wrote,  "  I  have  taken  Mr.  Harley 
into  favor  again."  The  highest  preferment  Swift  was 
able  to  obtain  was  the  deanery  of  St.  Patrick's  in  Dublin ; 
and  this  ofifice,  which  he  held  till  the  close  of  his  life,  he 
looked  on  as  an  exile. 

Swift's  strength  lay  chiefly  in  calm,  cold,  merciless  sat- 
ire. In  this  style  of  writing  he  has  no  equal,  perhaps,  in 
the  whole  range  of  literature.  His  satirical  gift  amounts 
to  real  genius.  But  there  is  in  it  no  genial  humor,  such  as 
renders  Addison's  writings  so  charming.  His  touch  is  not 
playful,  tender,  delicate.  Morbidly  sensitive  to  the  evils 
in  society,  the  church,  and  the  state,  he  castigates  them  in 
terrible  earnest.  He  is  grimly  saturnine.  In  the  "Modest 
Proposal "  for  preventing  the  children  of  poor  people  in 
Ireland  from  being  a  burden  to  their  parents  or  country, 
and  for  making  them  beneficial  to  the  public,  we  almost 
shudder  at  the  impassive  seriousness  with  which  he  intro- 
duces his  hideous  plan.     "I  have  been  assured,"  he  says, 


JONATHAN  SWIFT.  263 

"  by  a  very  knowing  American  of  my  acquaintance  in  Lon- 
don, that  a  young  healthy  child  well  nursed  is  at  a  year  old 
a  most  delicious,  nourishing,  and  wholesome  food,  whether 
stewed,  roasted,  baked,  or  boiled ;  and  I  make  no  doubt 
that  it  will  equally  serve  in  a  fricassee  or  a  ragout." 

In  1704  Swift  published  a  powerful  satire  entitled,  "A 
Tale  of  a  Tub,"  the  object  of  which  was  to  ridicule  what 
he  regarded  as  the  inconsistency  and  intolerance  of  the 
leading  bodies  into  which  Christendom  is  divided.  A 
father  is  described  on  his  death-bed  as  bequeathing  to  each 
of  his  three  sons,  Peter,  Martin,  and  Jack  (representing 
Romanists,  Anglicans,  and  Dissenters),  a  new  coat.  This 
was  the  Christian  religion.  "  Now  you  are  to  understand," 
said  the  father,  "  that  these  coats  have  two  virtues  con- 
tained in  them  :  one  is,  that  with  good  wearing  they  will 
last  you  fresh  and  sound  as  long  as  you  live ;  the  other  is, 
that  they  will  grow  in  the  same  proportion  with  your 
bodies,  lengthening  and  widening  of  themselves,  so  as  to 
be  always  fit."  They  were  to  live  together  in  one  house 
as  brethren  and  friends. 

For  the  first  seven  years  all  went  well.  Then  the 
brothers  came  to  town,  fell  in  love  with  the  Duchess 
d'Argent,  Madame  de  Grands  Titres,  and  the  Countess 
d'Orgueil,  representing  covetousness,  ambition,  and  pride. 
To  win  the  favor  of  these  ladies,  the  brothers  began  to  live 
as  gallants.  But  they  were  embarrassed  by  the  plainness 
of  their  coats.  After  some  time,  by  a  marvellous  interpreta- 
tion of  their  father's  will  (the  Bible),  they  added  shoulder 
knots.  Silver  fringe  (representing  outward  splendor)  was 
soon  in  fashion  ;  and  consulting  the  will  again,  they  found, 
to  their  great  astonishment,  these  words :  "  I  charge  and 


264  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

command  my  said  three  sons  to  wear  no  sort  of  silver 
fringe  upon  or  about  their  said  coats."  What  was  to  be 
done  ?  Peter,  with  great  erudition  and  critical  skill,  re- 
moved the  difficulty.  He  "  had  found  in  a  certain  author, 
which  he  said  should  be  nameless,  that  the  same  word 
which  in  the  will  is  called /"m/^^  does  also  signify  a  broom- 
stick ;  and  doubtless  ought  to  have  the  same  interpreta- 
tion in  this  paragraph."  By  similar  outrageous  subterfuges 
the  three  brothers  added  gold  lace  and  flame-colored  satin 
linings  to  their  coats  and  lived  in  the  height  of  fashion. 
Finally,  their  father's  will  was  locked  up  and  disregarded 
entirely.  Peter  began  to  put  on  airs ;  and  styling  himself 
"  My  Lord  Peter,"  cast  his  brothers  out  of  the  house. 

The  genius  displayed  in  "The  Tale  of  a  Tub"  is 
unmistakable;  but  the  general  tone  of  the  satire  —  its 
coarseness,  irreverence,  and  indiscrimination  —  called  forth 
general  condemnation.  More  than  anything  else,  it  stood 
in  the  way  of  the  coveted  bishopric.  His  enemies  used 
it  to  his  disadvantage ;  and  as  we  read  it  to-day,  we  can 
hardly  find  fault  with  the  judgment  expressed  at  the  time, 
that  the  author  was  not  fit  to  be  a  bishop. 

In  1 710  Swift  went  to  London  on  business  connected 
with  the  Irish  church,  and  spent  there  the  next  three  years 
—  perhaps  the  happiest  years  of  his  life.  He  was  inti- 
mately associated  with  the  political  and  literary  leaders  of 
the  metropolis.  Politics  and  literature  were  more  inti- 
mately associated  then  than  at  the  present  time.  His 
political  pamphlets  exerted  an  immense  influence  on  pub- 
lic opinion.  He  was  the  most  trenchant  and  formidable 
pamphleteer  of  his  day.  He  lived  on  terms  of  intimacy 
with  Addison  and  Pope,  and  used  his  influence  at  court  to 


JONATHAN  SWIFT.  265 

advance  the  interests  of  his  friends.  It  was  during  these 
years  in  London  that  he  wrote  his  remarkable  "Journal 
to  Stella,"  in  which  we  see  so  vividly  the  hfe  of  the  time. 
In  his  second  letter  he  writes :  "  Henceforth  I  will  write 
something  every  day  to  MD  ^  and  make  it  a  sort  of  jour- 
nal; and  when  it  is  full,  I  will  send  it  whether  MD  writes 
or  not ;  and  so  that  will  be  pretty,  and  I  shall  always  be 
in  conversation  with  MD."  He  adhered  to  his  promise; 
and  day  after  day  he  wrote  down  the  most  trifling  occur- 
rences, —  the  persons  he  met,  where  he  dined,  what  he  ate 
and  spent,  his  hopes  and  fears,  political,  social,  and  literary 
gossip,  —  a  record  almost  without  parallel  in  literature  for 
the  historic  importance  of  the  men  and  events  that  figure 
in  its  pages,  and  for  the  clearness  with  which  it  reproduces 
the  life  of  another  age. 

But  who  was  Stella }  This  leads  us  to  a  consideration 
of  Swift's  relation  to  women,  one  of  the  most  unsatis- 
factory and  mysterious  features  of  his  hfe.  His  power- 
ful individuality,  together  with  his  brilliant  conversation 
and  keen  wit,  made  a  deep  impression  on  the  opposite 
sex.  He  was  constantly  surrounded  by  a  group  of  admir- 
ing women.  But  there  were  two  in  whom  he  inspired  a 
deathless  devotion,  which  in  the  end  rendered  their  lives 
desolate.  How  far  he  was  to  blame,  it  is  now  impossible 
to  tell.  There  is  an  unsolved  mystery  hanging  over  his 
conduct,  of  which  we  have  only  a  hint.  After  a  private 
conversation  with  Swift,  which  seems  to  have  been  some 
sort  of  confession.  Archbishop  King  said  to  a  friend, 
"You    have   just  met   the  most  unhappy  man  on  earth; 

iThe  initials  of  My  Dear  —  a  part  of  the  little  language  of  endearment  he 
constantly  employs. 


266  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

but  on  the  subject  of  his  wretchedness  you  must  never 
ask  a  question  " 

Stella  is  a  poetic  name  which  Swift  bestowed  on  Esther 
Johnson,  a  beautiful,  dark-eyed  girl,  whom  he  had  met 
at  Sir  William  Temple's,  and  whose  studies  he  had 
directed.  This  relation  ripened  into  a  feeling  of  at  least 
sincere  friendship  on  the  part  of  Swift,  and  on  the  part 
of  Stella  into  a  lasting  devotion.  After  his  settlement  in 
Ireland,  she  removed  thither,  at  his  request,  to  be  near 
him,  and  remained  there  during  his  sojourn  in  London. 

In  the  metropolis  he  met  another  and  accomplished 
young  woman  named  Esther  Vanhomrigh,  to  whom  he 
gave  the  poetic  sobriquet  of  Vanessa.  He  frequently 
dined  at  her  mother's  —  insensibly  drawn,  perhaps,  by 
an  attraction  he  had  not  the  courage  to  recognize.  He 
interested  himself  in  Vanessa's  studies  and  was  repaid 
with  an  impassioned  and  quenchless  love.  She  pos- 
sessed ample  means ;  and  after  his  return  to  Dublin, 
she  followed  him.  In  his  embarrassing  situation  between 
Stella  and  Vanessa,  he  temporized  for  a  time,  unable  or 
fearing  to  discard  either  beauty. 

At  last  he  consented  to  a  secret  marriage  with  Stella 
in  1 71 6.  But  it  was  a  marriage  only  in  name.  At  length 
Vanessa,  grown  weary  with  years  of  waiting,  wrote  a  let- 
ter of  inquiry  to  Stella.  This  step  incensed  the  imperi- 
ous dean  beyond  measure.  He  suddenly  appeared  before 
her  in  a  paroxysm  of  fury ;  and,  without  saying  a  word, 
but  with  a  fierce  countenance  that  struck  terror  to  her 
heart,  he  threw  down  the  unfortunate  letter  and  instantly 
left  the  house.  It  was  Vanessa's  death-warrant ;  and  in 
a  few  weeks,  in  1723,  she  died  of  a  broken  heart.     Stella 


JONATHAN  SWIFT.  267 

survived  her  five  years,  but  with  all  the  sweetness  of 
life  gone.  On  her  death-bed,  Swift,  referring  to  their 
marriage,  said,  "  Well,  my  dear,  if  you  wish  it,  it  shall 
be  owned."  Her  pathetic  answer  was,  "  It  is  too  late." 
As  a  memento,  he  kept  a  little  package,  on  which  was 
inscribed,  "  Only  a  woman's  hair." 

In  1724  an  opportunity  presented  itself  for  Swift  to 
take  vengeance  on  the  English  government  for  his  exile. 
A  patent  had  been  granted  to  William  Wood  to  supply 
Ireland  with  a  debased  copper  coinage.  Swift  attacked 
the  scheme  in  a  series  of  letters  published  in  a  Dublin 
newspaper  and  signed  *'  M.  B.  Drapier."  They  were 
seven  in  number  and  are  known  as  the  "  Drapier  Let- 
ters." They  were  written  with  great  ingenuity  and  power ; 
and,  as  a  result,  the  Irish  people  were  roused  to  fury,  and 
the  Enghsh  government  found  it  necessary  to  cancel  the 
patent.  Swift  became  the  most  popular  man  in  Ireland ; 
and  to  arrest  him,  it  was  said,  would  require  a  force  of 
ten  thousand  men. 

Two  years  later  appeared  his  most  famous  work,  "  Gul- 
liver's Travels."  Though  containing  numerous  references 
to  the  political  and  social  condition  of  England,  it  may, 
as  a  whole,  be  considered  as  a  satire  on  the  human  race. 
It  consists  of  four  voyages.  In  the  first,  Gulliver  visits 
Lilliput,  where  the  inhabitants  are  six  inches  high,  and 
all  other  objects  —  houses,  trees,  ships,  animals  —  are  in 
the  same  proportion.  In  the  second  voyage,  he  goes  to 
Brobdingnag,  a  country  of  enormous  giants  sixty  feet 
tall.  In  the  third,  he  visits  Laputa  and  other  fantastic 
countries.  In  the  last  voyage,  he  discovers  the  country 
of   the    Houyhnhnms,  in  which    horses   are   the   rational 


268  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

and  dominant  race,  and  men,  under  the  name  of  Yahoos, 
are  degraded  to  the  state  of  irrational  brutes.  The  whole 
story  is  told  with  an  air  of  candor  that  rivals  Defoe.  The 
satire,  which  is  filled  with  a  delightful  variety  of  incidents, 
is  lighter  and  more  entertaining  in  the  first  two  parts ; 
but  in  the  last  two  the  misanthropy  overpowers  the 
humor  and  arouses  a  feeling  of  indignant  protest.  What- 
ever may  be  their  frailties  and  sins,  men  are  not  Yahoos. 

None  of  Swift's  writings  give  us  a  clearer  insight  into 
his  character  than  his  "Thoughts  on  Various  Subjects." 
They  are  in  the  form  of  aphorisms,  which  embody  much 
shrewd  observation,  but  also  a  good  deal  of  error  and 
cynicism.     A  few  are  given  :  — 

"  We  have  just  enough  religion  to  make  us  hate,  but  not 
enough  to  make  us  love,  one  another." 

"  All  fits  of  pleasure  are  balanced  by  an  equal  degree  of 
pain  or  languor ;  it  is  Hke  spending  this  year  part  of  the 
next  year's  revenue." 

"The  latter  part  of  a  wise  man's  life  is  taken  up  in 
curing  the  follies,  prejudices,  and  false  opinions  he  had 
contracted  in  the  former." 

"When  a  true  genius  appears  in  the  world,  you  may 
know  him  by  this  sign,  that  the  dunces  are  all  in  confed- 
eracy against  him." 

"  The  reason  why  so  few  marriages  are  happy  is  because 
young  ladies  spend  their  time  in  making  nets,  not  in  making 
cages." 

"  The  stoical  scheme  of  supplying  our  wants  by  lopping 
off  our  desires,  is  like  cutting  off  our  feet  when  we  want 
shoes." 

Swift  has  left  a  considerable  body  of  verse  —  it  cannot 


/ONATHAA'  SWIFT.  269 

in  justice  be  called  poetry.  After  perusing  one  of  his 
early  metrical  pieces,  Dryden  remarked,  "  Cousin  Swift, 
you  will  never  be  a  poet."  This  judgment,  which  does 
credit  to  Dryden's  critical  sagacity,  cost  him  the  implacable 
dislike  of  Swift.  Swift's  mind  was  lacking  in  warm  imagi- 
nation and  delicate  sensibility.  He  saw  things  in  their 
reality.  In  spite  of  its  intellectual  power,  his  mind  had  an 
abnormal  tendency  to  what  is  low  and  disgusting.  His 
verse  is  disfigured,  as  is  much  of  his  prose,  by  a  coarseness 
and  obscenity  which  are  no  longer  tolerated  among  respect- 
able people. 

His  style  is  in  perfect  keeping  with  the  man.  He  was 
too  proud  for  affectation.  He  wrote  as  he  lived;  and  in 
all  his  works  we  find  him  direct,  unconventional,  strong. 
In  the  language  of  Thackeray,  who  is  far  from  being  partial 
to  the  dean,  "  He  shuns  tropes  and  metaphors,  and  uses  his 
ideas  and  words  with  a  wise  thrift  and  economy,  as  he  used 
his  money,  with  which  he  could  be  generous  and  splendid 
upon  great  occasions,  but  which  he  husbanded  when  there 
was  no  need  to  spend  it.  He  never  indulges  in  needless 
extravagance  of  rhetoric,  lavish  epithets,  profuse  imagery. 
He  lays  his  opinion  before  you  with  a  grave  simplicity  and 
a  perfect  neatness." 

In  his  social  relations  Swift  exhibited  some  of  the  eccen- 
tricities of  genius.  He  disdainfully  trampled  on  conven- 
tional forms  and  amenities,  assuming  to  be  a  law  unto 
himself.  He  was  sometimes  outrageous  in  his  insolence 
and  pride.  Dining  one  day  with  the  Earl  of  Burlington, 
he  said  to  the  mistress  of  the  house,  "  Lady  Burlington, 
I  hear  you  can  sing;  sing  me  a  song."  The  lady  natu- 
rally resented  this  freedom  of  address,  and  promptly  de- 


2/0  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

clined.  "  Why,  madam,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  suppose  you 
take  me  for  one  of  your  poor  Enghsh  hedge-parsons ; 
sing  when  I  bid  you."  The  lady  burst  into  tears  and  left 
the  room.  The  next  time  he  met  her,  his  salutation  was, 
"  Pray,  madam,  are  you  as  proud  and  ill-natured  now  as 
when  I  saw  you  last }  " 

But,  notwithstanding  these  faults,  there  was  something 
in  his  strong  individuality  that  possessed  an  unusual  charm. 
He  was  much  sought  after  in  London  society,  and  during 
his  stay  there,  as  we  learn  from  the  "Journal  to  Stella," 
scarcely  a  day  passed  that  he  did  not  dine  with  some  celeb- 
rity. His  friendships  were  as  strong  as  his  dislikes  were 
bitter.  He  warmly  promoted  Pope's  translation  of  Homer 
and  declared  his  purpose  not  to  let  the  poet  publish  a  line 
till  he  had  raised  for  him  a  thousand  guineas.  He  loved 
his  mother  tenderly;  and  when  she  died  in  1 710,  he  wrote: 
"  I  have  now  lost  the  last  barrier  between  me  and  death. 
God  grant  that  I  may  be  as  well  prepared  for  it  as  I  con- 
fidently believe  her  to  have  been !  If  the  way  to  Heaven 
be  through  piety,  truth,  justice,  and  charity,  she  is  there." 

The  closing  years  of  his  life  were  pitiful.  Walking  with 
some  friends,  one  day,  just  outside  of  Dublin,  he  remained 
behind.  He  was  gazing  intently  at  a  lofty  tree,  the  top  of 
which  had  been  blasted.  Upon  the  approach  of  Dr. 
Young,  one  of  the  party,  Swift  pointed  to  it,  and  said  with 
significance,  "  I  shall  be  like  that  tree,  and  die  first  at  the 
top."  His  forebodings  were  fulfilled.  About  the  year 
1736  his  memory  began  to  fail.  The  giddiness  and  deaf- 
ness, from  which  he  had  suffered  nearly  all  his  life,  greatly 
increased.  He  lost  all  taste  for  society  and  no  longer 
took  pleasure  in  writing  or  in  books ;  his  days,  filled  with 


JONATHAN  SWIFT.  2/1 

pain  and  desolateness,  dragged  heavily  along.  At  last  his 
understanding  failed  him,  and  in  1740  it  became  necessary 
to  appoint  guardians  of  his  person  and  estate.  From  this 
sad  condition  he  was  released  by  death,  in  1745.  He  lies 
buried  in  the  cathedral  of  St.  Patrick. 

Swift  is  one  of  the  most  tragic  figures  in  English  litera- 
ture. His  character  exhibits  strength  without  elevation. 
His  dominant  passion  was  an  imperious  pride  that  sought 
to  bend  everything  to  his  will.  In  his  lust  for  power,  he 
acted  largely  on  the  principle  of  "  rule  or  ruin."  His  fre- 
quent disappointments  filled  his  heart  with  bitterness,  yet 
he  was  not  without  kind  and  generous  impulses ;  but,  to 
escape  the  praises  or  gratitude  of  men,  he  frequently  con- 
cealed his  charities,  or  accompanied  them  with  a  wilfully 
offensive  brusqueness.  His  piety  has  been  unjustly  ques- 
tioned. While  he  waged  a  relentless  war  on  hypocrisy 
and  formalism,  he  was  deeply  religious  at  heart ;  and  in 
his  hour  of  greatest  need  he  lifted  his  soul  in  agonizing 
prayer  to  God. 


AGE   OF   JOHNSON. 


PRINCIPAL  WRITERS. 

)rators.  —  Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan  (1751-1816),  orator,  poli- 
tician, and  dramatist.  Pitt  said  of  his  speech  in  the  trial  of  Warren 
Hastings,  -'that  it  surpasses  all  the  eloquence  of  ancient  or  modern 
times."  Two  of  his  dramas,  "The  Rivals"  (1775)  and  "The  School 
for  Stendal  "  (1777),  take  high  rank. 

/''Edmund  Burke  (1730-1797).  Orator,  statesman,  and  author.  His 
principal  works  are  his  "  Inquiry  into  the  Origin  of  our  Ideas  of  the 
Sublime  and  Beautiful"  (1756)  and  his  "Reflections  on  the  Revolution 
in  France  "  (1790). 

|^,^HTstorians.  —  David  Hunie  (1711-1776).  Historian  and  phi- 
losopher. Author  of  "Essays  Moral  and  Political"  (1741),  "Inquiry 
Concerning  the  Human  Understanding  "  (1748),  "  History  of  England  " 
(1754-1762),  etc. 

William  Robertson  (1721-1793).  Clergyman  and  historian.  Au- 
thor of  "  History  of  Scotland"  (1759),  "  History  of  Charles  V."  (1769), 
and  '>History  of  America  "  ( 1 777) . 

,  /EdAvard  Gibbon  (1737-1794).'  Author  of  "The  Decline  and  Fall  of 
"the  Roman  Empire"  (1776- 1788),  etc. 

Poets. — Mark  Akenside  (1721-1771).  His  principal  book  is  his 
"Pleasures  of  the  Imagination"  (1744),  suggested  by  Addison's  essay 
on  the  same  subject  in  the  Spectator. 

1/ Thomas  Gray  (1716-1771).  His  poem  "A  Distant  Prospect  of 
Eton  College  "  (1742)  attracted  attention.  His  best-known  poem  is  the 
"Elegy  in  a  Country  Churchyard"  (1750).  "Progress  of  Poesy" 
(1755)  and  "The  Bard,"  which  was  not  completed,  are  his  other  pro- 
ductions.    One  of  the  most  artistic  of  English  poets. 

William  Collins  (1721-1759).  A  lyrical  poet  of  fine  genius.  His 
volume  of  "Odes,"  published  in   1747,  fell  still-born  from  the  press. 


274  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

His  '•'  Ode  on  the  Death  of  Thomson,"  "  Ode  to  Evening,"  and   "  Ode 
on  the  Passions"  are  excellent  poems. 

George  Crabbej^i 754-1832).  His  principal  poem  is  "The  Village" 
(1783).  He  was  Augustan  in  the  form  of  his  poetry,  using  the  rhymed 
couplet,  but  modern  in  spirit.  Byron  calls  him  "Nature's  sternest 
painter,  but  the  best." 

James  Beattie  (1735-1803).  "The  Minstrel,"  his  best  poem,  ap- 
peared, the  first  part,  in  1771,  and  the  second  part  in  1774.  It  is 
written  in  Spenserian  stanza  and  marks  the  transition  from  the  artificial 
to  the  natural  school. 

•  William  Shenstone  (17 14-1763).  "The  Schoolmistress"  (1742)  is 
a  poem  in  Spenserian  verse,  belonging  to  the  rising  romantic  school. 
It  describes  a  village  school. 

Miscellaneous.  —  Thomas   Warton    (i  728-1 790).      Professor  of 
Poetry  at  Oxford,  and  author  of  a  "History  of  English  Poetry"  (1781), 
extending  to  the  early  part  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
L/ Thomas  Percy  (1729-1811).     Bishop,  and  author  of  "  Reliques  of 
Ancignt  English  Poetry." 

//fames  Boswell  (i 740-1 795).     Friend  of  Dr.  Johnson,  noting  that 
great' writerVspeech  and  actions.     His  "Life  of  Dr.  Johnson"  (179O 
is  regarded  as  one  of  the  best  biographies  ever  written, 
/^orace  Walpole  (1717-1797)-     Earl  of  Oxford,  and  author  of  "The 
Castle  of  Otranto"  (1765),  written  in  an  extravagant  romantic' style, 
and  "Historic  Doubts  on  the  Life  and  Reign  of  Richard  III."  (1768). 
Adam  Smith  (1723-1790).     Political  economist,  and  author  of  "  The 
Wealth  of  Nations  "  (1776),  a  widely  influential  book,  laying  the  founda- 
tions of  a  national  political  economy. 

GREAT    REPRESENTATIVE   WRITERS. 

j;Samuel  Johnson.  I  Edward  Gibbon.  * 

'Oliver  Goldsmith.  ^  William  Cowper. 

/■  Robert  Burns. 


VI. 

AGE   OF   JOHNSON. 

(1745-1800.) 

Characteristics  of  period  —  Transition  —  Brotherhood  of  man — Dec- 
laration of  Independence  —  Democratic  tendencies  —  Advancing 
intelligence  —  Newspapers  —  Moral  and  religious  improvement  — 
Philanthropy  —  England  a  world-power  —  Results  on  English  char- 
acter —  Oratory —  Pitt,  Burke  —  Historical  writing  —  Hume,  Rob- 
ertson —  Romantic  movement  —  ElTects  —  Humanity  —  Nature  — 
Samuel  Johnson— Oliver  Goldsmith  —  Edward  Gibbon  — 
William  Cowper — Robert  Burns. 

The  course  of  English  literature  is  marked  by  a  succes- 
sion of  rises  and  descents.  Notwithstanding  the  presence 
of  a  few  writers  of  marked  excellence,  the  period  under 
consideration  is  one  of  decadence.  Old  influences  were 
giving  place  to  new.  This  period  is  named  after  Johnson, 
the  great  literary  dictator,  simply  as  a  matter  of  conven- 
ience. While  he  was  the  centre  of  an  influential  literary 
group  for  many  years,  and  the  most  picturesque  and  com- 
manding literary  figure  of  his  time,  other  and  mightier 
influences  were  at  work,  giving  a  new  tone  and  direction 
to  literature. 

In  great  measure  Johnson  bore  the  impress  of  the  pre- 
ceding period.  In  his  poetry  he  is  coldly  classical ;  and 
in  a  part,  at  least,  of  his  prose,  he  is  an  imitator  of  Addison. 
The  real  characteristic  of  this  second  half  of  the  eighteenth 
century  is  transition.     By  the  side  of  the  literary  forms  and 

canons  of  the  age  of  Pope,  there  arose  a  new  kind  of  writ- 

275 


2/6  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

ing  distinguished  by  a  return  to  nature.  Artificial  poetry 
had  ah'eady  been  carried  to  its  utmost  Hmits ;  and  if  litera- 
ture was  to  reach  a  higher  excellence,  it  was  obliged  to 
assume  a  new  form.  And  to  this  it  was  urged  by  the  mo- 
mentous social,  political,  and  religious  changes  that  took 
place,  not  only  in  England,  but  on  the  Continent  and  in 
America  during  the  latter  part  of  the  century. 

In  their  onward  course  mankind  made  a  marked  advance. 
In  social  and  political  relations  the  rights  of  men  were  more 
clearly  recognized,  and  the  brotherhood  of  mankind  began 
to  affect  existing  customs  and  institutions.  As  in  all  great 
forward  movements  of  the  world,  a  variety  of  causes  co- 
operated in  bringing  about  great  changes.  Unwilling 
hands  often  played  an  important  part.  The  stupidity  and 
obstinacy  of  George  III.  and  of  some  of  his  ministers  hast- 
ened the  formal  declaration  of  those  principles  of  liberty 
which  mark  a  new  era  in  civil  government. 

A  strong  tendency  of  the  age  was  crystallized  in  the 
Declaration  of  Independence.  "  We  hold  these  truths  to 
be  self-evident,"  said  the  wise  and  courageous  representa- 
tives of  the  American  colonists,  "  that  all  men  are  created 
equal ;  that  they  are  endowed  by  their  Creator  with  certain 
unaUenable  rights ;  that  among  these  are  life,  liberty,  and 
the  pursuit  of  happiness ;  that,  to  secure  these  rights,  gov- 
ernments are  instituted  among  men,  deriving  their  just 
powers  from  the  consent  of  the  governed  ;  that,  whenever 
any  form  of  government  becomes  destructive  of  these  ends, 
it  is  the  right  of  the  people  to  alter  or  to  aboUsh  it,  and  to 
institute  a  new  government,  laying  its  foundation  on  such 
principles,  and  organizing  its  powers  in  such  form  as  to 
them  shall  seem  most  likely  to  effect  their  safety  and  hap- 


AGE    OF  JOHNSON.  2/7 

piness."  This  solemn  declaration  sounded  the  knell  of 
absolutism  in  the  world.  It  is  a  political  gospel  that  is 
destined  to  leaven  the  whole  lump. 

But  how  came  the  American  colonists  to  a  recognition 
of  the  weighty  truths  embodied  in  this  declaration  }  They 
simply  voiced  the  growing  spirit  of  the  age.  The  greater 
diffusion  of  knowledge  had  opened  the  eyes  of  men  to  a 
better  perception  of  truth.  The  force  of  custom  and  preju- 
dice was,  in  a  measure,  broken.  The  claims  of  superiority 
set  up  by  privileged  classes  were  seen  to  be  baseless,  and 
injustice  and  oppression  in  the  state  were  discerned  and 
denounced. 

In  England  there  was  a  noteworthy  advance  in  popular 
intelligence.  Remarkable  inventions  in  the  mechanic  arts 
placed  new  power  in  the  hands  of  the  producing  classes. 
The  use  of  coal  in  smelting  iron  ;  the  opening  of  canals 
throughout  England;  the  invention  of  the  spinning-jenny 
and  power-loom  ;  the  perfecting  of  the  steam-engine  with 
its  wide  application  to  manufacturing  purposes  —  all  this 
brought  people  together  in  large  communities,  greatly 
raised  the  average  intelligence,  and  established  the  indus- 
trial supremacy  of  England. 

Printing-presses  w^ere  set  up  in  every  town ;  circulating 
libraries  were  opened;  newspapers  were  multiplied;  and 
monthly  magazines  and  reviews  fostered  the  general  intel- 
ligence that  called  them  into  being.  The  proceedings  of 
Parliament  were  regularly  published  and  naturally  became 
the  subject  of  discussion  in  every  club-room  and  at  many 
a  hearthstone.  The  first  great  English  journals  —  the 
Mor7iing  CJironiclc,  the  Morning  Post,  and  the  Times  — 
date  from  this  period. 


2/8  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

The  moral  and  religious  state  of  society  showed  marked 
improvement.  The  Wesleyan  revival  had  rendered  the 
fox-hunting  clergyman  an  impossibility.  Crossness  gave 
way  to  decorum  in  life.  Indecency  was  almost  wholly 
banished  from  the  stage  and  from  literature.  This  happy 
change  is  illustrated  in  an  incident  told  us  by  Sir  Walter 
Scott.  His  grandaunt  assured  him  that,  when  led  by 
curiosity  to  turn  over  the  pages  of  a  novel  in  which  she 
had  delighted  in  her  youth,  she  was  astonished  to  find  that, 
sitting  alone  at  the  age  of  eighty,  she  was  unable  to  read 
witTiout  shame  a  book  which  sixty  years  before  she  had 
heard  read  out  for  amusement  in  large  circles,  consisting 
of  the  best  society  in  London. 

This  improved  moral  tone  was  not  restricted  to  senti- 
ment. One  of  the  noble  features  of  this  period  was  the 
active  efforts  to  improve  the  condition  of  the  unfortunate 
and  the  oppressed.  The  slave-trade,  which  Englishmen 
had  long  made  a  source  of  profitable  commerce,  was 
abolished.  Hospitals  were  established.  Howard,  by  his 
noble  enthusiasm  and  incessant  labors,  secured  a  reform 
in  prison  discipline.  Robert  Raikes  of  Gloucester  estab- 
lished the  Sunday-school,  which  for  England  was  the 
beginning  of  popular  education. 

With  the  conclusion  of  the  Seven  Years'  War,  England 
entered  upon  her  career  as  a  world-power.  She  ceased, 
in  large  measure,  to  be  a  rival  of  Germany  or  France. 
By  the  treaty  of  Paris,  in  1763,  Canada  and  the  Mississippi 
Valley  were  ceded  to  England,  and  the  future  of  America 
as  an  English-speaking  nation  was  secured.  Through  the 
fearless  explorations  of  Cook,  numerous  islands  in  the 
Pacific,  including  Australia,  were  added  to  the  domain  of 


AGE   OF  JOHNSON.  2/9 

England.  The  victory  of  Plassey,  in  1757,  laid  the  founda- 
tion of  English  supremacy  in  India.  England  was  felt  to 
be,  to  use  the  words  of  Burke,  "but  part  of  a  great  em- 
pire, extended  by  our  virtue  and  our  fortune  to  the  farthest 
limits  of  the  east  and  the  west." 

The  inevitable  result  of  all  these  conditions  was  an  in- 
creasing sense  of  power,  a  greater  breadth  of  view,  and 
especially  a  clearer  recognition  of  the  rights  of  men.  The 
foundations  were  laid  for  a  vigorous  Hterature,  but  the 
completed  results  were  not  to  appear  till  the  succeeding 
period.  A  noteworthy  feature  of  the  time  is  the  predomi- 
nance of  prose.  Poetry  retires  somewhat  into  the  back- 
ground ;  fancy  gives  place  to  reason.  It  was  a  practical 
age,  largely  absorbed  in  material  advancement  and  political 
and  social  reform. 

The  period  of  Johnson  was  brilliant  in  its  oratory.  The 
world  has  never  seen  a  group  of  greater  orators  than  Pitt, 
Fox,  Chatham,  Sheridan,  Burke.  Great  questions  of  gov- 
ernment presented  themselves  for  consideration  and  action. 
Through  the  activity  of  the  press,  eloquence  was  no  longer 
bounded  by  the  halls  of  Parliament,  but  extended  to  the 
limits  of  the  kingdom.  Much  of  the  eloquence  of  the 
time  is  imperishable.  The  principles  of  human  liberty, 
of  sound  political  economy,  and  of  manly  integrity  have 
never  had  better  utterance.  "  Sir,"  exclaimed  Pitt,  after 
the  passage  of  the  Stamp  Act  had  aroused  resistance,  "  I 
rejoice  that  America  has  resisted.  Three  million  of  peo- 
ple, so  dead  to  all  the  feelings  of  liberty  as  voluntarily  to 
be  slaves,  would  have  been  fit  instruments  to  m.ake  slaves 
of  the  rest." 

The  most  prominent  figure  in  this  group  of  orators  was 


280  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Edmund  Burke.  "  I  have  learned  more  from  him,"  ex- 
claimed Fox  in  a  burst  of  admiration,  "than  from  all  the 
books  I  ever  read."  To  philosophical  depth  Burke  added 
the  glow  of  imagination ;  and  to  vast  resources  of  fact, 
he  joined  the  warmth  of  ardent  feeling.  His  grasp  of 
principles  and  his  expression  of  lofty  sentiment  give  a 
permanent  value  to  his  masterful  speeches.  Though  he 
sometimes  wearied  his  auditors  by  his  profundity  and 
length,  his  efforts  at  their  best  have  the  immortaUty  that 
belongs  to  the  orations  of  his  master  Cicero.  Among  his 
many  able  speeches,  that  on  "  Conciliation  with  America  " 
is  usually  regarded  as  the  best. 

But  Burke  was  an  author  as  well  as  orator.  In  1756  he 
wrote  an  "  Inquiry  into  the  Sublime  and  Beautiful,"  which, 
though  highly  esteemed  in  its  day,  has  been  superseded 
by  later  works  on  art  criticism.  In  1770  appeared  his 
"  Thoughts  on  the  Cause  of  the  Present  Discontents,"  which 
is  an  elevated,  philosophical  discussion  of  existing  politi- 
cal conditions.  His  most  important  work  is  his  "Reflec- 
tions on  the  French  Revolution."  It  was  a  passionate 
arraignment  of  the  revolutionary  movement.  "  Its  appeal 
to  the  passions,  its  cruel  force  and  wit,"  says  Gasse,  "  its 
magnificent,  direct  incentive  to  reaction,  all  these  gave  the 
'  Reflections '  an  amazing  interest  to  those  who  had  just 
witnessed,  with  bewilderment,  the  incomprehensible  and 
unexampled  progress  of  events  in  France.  Upon  all  the 
trembling  kings  of  Europe,  upon  the  exiles  on  the  Rhine 
especially,  the  book  fell  like  rain  after  a  long  drought." 

In  his  political  career  Burke  kept  himself  infinitely  above 
the  hypocrisy  and  sycophancy  of  the  demagogue.  Not 
for  a  moment  did  he  lay  aside  the  independence  and  dig- 


AGE    OF  JOHNSON.  28 1 

nity  of  a  great  statesman.  No  other  representative  of  the 
people  ever  gave  a  manUer  account  of  his  stewardship 
than  did  he  to  the  electors  of  Bristol.  After  meeting  in 
perfect  frankness  and  candor  the  objections  that  had  been 
urged  against  his  conduct  in  Parliament,  he  concluded: 
"  And  now,  gentlemen^  on  this  serious  day  when  I  come,  . 
as  it  were,  to  make  up  my  account  with  you,  let  me  take 
to  myself  some  degree  of  honest  pride  on  the  nature  of  the 
charges  that  are  against  me.  I  do  not  here  stand  before 
you  accused  of  venality  or  neglect  of  duty.  It  is  not  said 
that,  in  the  long  period  of  my  service,  I  have,  in  a  single 
instance,  sacrificed  the  slightest  of  your  interests  to  my 
ambition  or  to  my  fortune.  It  is  not  alleged  that,  to  gratify 
any  anger  or  revenge  of  my  own  or  of  my  party,  I  have 
had  a  share  in  wronging  or  oppressing  any  description  of 
men,  or  any  one  man  in  any  description.  No!  The 
charges  against  me  are  all  of  one  kind  :  that  I  have  pushed 
the  principles  of  general  justice  and  benevolence  too  far  — 
further  than  a  cautious  policy  would  warrant,  and  further 
than  the  opinions  of  many  would  go  along  with  me.  In 
every  accident  which  may  happen  through  life,  in  pain,  in 
sorrow,  in  depression,  and  distress,  I  will  call  to  mind  this 
accusation  and  be  comforted." 

During  the  period  before  us,  historical  writing  attained 
an  excellence  that  has  scarcely  been  surpassed.  There 
arose  three  great  historians  who  brought  to  their  narratives 
philosophical  insight  and  a  finished  excellence  of  style. 
Among  the  historians  of  the  world,  there  are  few  greater 
names  than  Hume,  Robertson,  and  Gibbon. 

Hume  very  early  developed  a  passion  for  literature, 
which  continued  through  life  his  ruling  purpose  and  chief 


282  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

enjoyment.  He  was  encouraged  by  his  family  to  devote 
himself  to  law,  but  he  felt  a  strong  aversion  to  everything 
but  philosophy  and  general  learning.  He  went  to  France 
to  prosecute  his  studies  in  a  country  retreat.  "  I  there  laid 
that  plan  of  life,"  he  says,  "  which  I  have  steadily  and 
successfully  pursued.  I  resolved  to  make  a  very  rigid  fru- 
gality supply  my  deficiency  of  fortune,  to  maintain  unim- 
paired my  independency,  and  to  regard  every  object  as 
contemptible,  except  the  improvement  of  my  talents  in  lit- 
erature." 

His  earlier  publications  —  a  "Treatise  on  Human  Na- 
ture" and  his  "Philosophical  Essays"  —  slowly  gained 
recognition.  His  sceptical  and  philosophical  views  were 
attacked.  The  sale  of  his  works  increased.  But  he  never 
allowed  himself  to  be  drawn  into  controversy.  "  I  had  a 
fixed  resolution,"  he  says,  "which  I  inflexibly  maintained, 
never  to  reply  to  anybody ;  and  not  being  very  irascible  in 
my  temper,  I  have  easily  kept  myself  clear  of  literary 
squabbles.  These  symptoms  of  a  rising  reputation  gave 
me  encouragement,  as  I  was  ever  more  disposed  to  see 
the  favorable  than  the  unfavorable  side  of  things ;  a  turn 
of  mind  which  is  more  happy  to  possess  than  to  be  born  to 
an  estate  of  ten  thousand  a  year." 

In  1 75 1  he  removed  from  the  country  to  Edinburgh, 
where  the  most  of  his  subsequent  life  was  spent.  Here 
he  soon  began  his  "  History  of  England,"  the  work  that 
has  given  him  a  permanent  place  in  English  literature. 
The  successive  volumes  appeared  at  intervals  between 
1 754  and  1 762.  At  first  coldly  received,  it  gradually  forced 
itself  into  notice  and  became  the  source  of  a  considerable 
income.    It  is  characterized  by  great  clearness  and  elegance 


AGE    OF  JOHNSON.  283 

of  narrative,  but  is  not  always  trustworthy  and  judicial  in 
its  conclusions.  His  judgment  was  sometimes  warped  by 
his  sceptical  and  Tory  prejudices.  Macaulay  pronounces 
him  "an  accomplished  advocate." 

William  Robertson,  like  Hume,  early  manifested  a 
strong  literary  enthusiasm  and  ambition.  The  common- 
place books  of  his  student  days  bore  the  motto,  "  Vita 
sine  Uteris  viors  est''  —  life  without  literature  is  death. 
He  was  indifferent  to  mathematics  and  mediocre  in  meta- 
physics ;  but  in  moral  and  religious  truth,  as  well  as  in 
historical  investigations,  he  showed  marked  aptitude  and 
proficiency.  Desirous  of  excelling  in  oratory,  he  studied 
the  ancient  and  modern  orators,  and  united  with  some 
fellow-students  in  establishing  a  literary  society,  the  pur- 
pose of  which  was  to  "  cultivate  the  study  of  elocution 
and  to  prepare  themselves,  by  the  habits  of  extemporary 
discussion  and  debate,  for  conducting  the  business  of 
popular  assemblies." 

In  1 741  he  entered  the  ministry  and  endeared  himself 
to  his  people  by  his  kindness,  fidelity,  and  eloquence. 
He  employed  his  leisure  in  historical  researches  and  in 
1759  published  his  "  History  of  Scotland,"  which  met  with 
instantaneous  success.  Fourteen  editions  were  called  for 
during  the  author's  life,  and  the  work  has  taken  perma- 
nent rank  as  a  standard  history.  For  a  time  he  dreaded 
the  rivalry  of  Hume,  who  in  his  "  History  of  England  " 
traversed  in  part  the  same  ground.  But  his  fears  proved 
groundless ;  and  it  is  highly  creditable  to  these  two  great 
historians  that  their  literary  labors  and  successes  did  not 
in  the  least  interrupt  the  course  of  their  friendship.  "  I 
have  not  had  in  a  long  time,"  wrote  Hume,  "a  more  sen- 


284  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

sible  pleasure  than  the  good  reception  of  your  History  has 
given  me  within  this  fortnight." 

In  1762  Robertson  was  elected  Principal  of  the  Univer- 
sity of  Edinburgh  ;  but  the  cares  of  his  new  office  did  not 
silence  his  pen.  After  nine  years  of  labor,  he  published 
his  "  History  of  Charles  V.,"  which  was  everywhere  re- 
ceived with  great  applause.  "  It  is  to  you  and  Mr.  Hume," 
wrote  Voltaire,  "  that  it  belongs  to  write  history.  You  are 
eloquent,  learned,  and  impartial.  I  unite  with  Europe  in 
esteeming  you."  The  work  was  translated  into  French; 
and  the  remuneration  received  by  the  author  is  said  to 
have  been  no  less  than  four  thousand  pounds.  Though 
hostile  critics  pointed  out  many  inaccuracies  of  a  minor 
character,  the  work  retains  its  place  as  a  splendid  contri- 
bution to  our  historical  literature. 

Robertson  concluded  his  series  of  splendid  historical 
works  with  his  "  History  of  the  Discovery  and  Settlement 
of  America."  His  style  is  one  of  equable  dignity.  His 
integrity  as  a  narrator  is  beyond  all  question.  "In  ar- 
ranging and  linking  together  into  one  harmonious  whole 
the  scattered  parts  of  his  subject,"  says  a  biographer, 
"he  is  eminently  happy;  and  in  delineating  characters, 
manners,  and  scenery,  in  making  vividly  present  to  the 
mind  that  which  he  describes,  he  has  few  rivals  and  no 
superiors." 

Edward  Gibbon,  the  greatest  of  this  triumvirate  of  his- 
torians, is  reserved  for  more  extended  study. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  phenomena  in  the  litera- 
ture of  recent  times  -is  the  romantic  movement  which 
originated  in  this  period.  A  similar  movement,  known 
as  the  "  Storm  and  Stress,"  manifested  itself  in  Germany 


AGE    OF  JOHNSON.  285 

about  the  same  time.  The  same  tendency  followed  a  Httle 
later  in  France  onder  the  leadership  of  the  great  Victor 
Hugo.  The  romantic  movement,  which  has  been  defined 
as  hberalism  in  literature,  is  a  reaction  against  the  classi- 
cism of  the  age  of  Queen  Anne.  It  is  a  breaking  away 
from  authority  and  a  return  to  nature.  It  manifested 
itself  in  two  particulars  :  first,  a  greater  freedom  in  liter- 
ary form  ;  and,  second,  in  a  return  to  the  past,  particularly 
to  an  ideaHzed  age  of  chivalry  in  the  Middle  Ages.  The 
rhymed  couplet  began  to  give  place  to  blank  verse,  the 
Spenserian  stanza,  and  the  varied  lyrical  forms  of  the 
Elizabethan  era.  In  criticism,  fiction,  and  poetry  there 
was  an  evident  turning  to  the  past. 

In  1765  Bishop  Percy  pubhshed  his  "  Reliques  of  Eng- 
lish Poetry,"  a  collection  of  old  ballads  that  proved  little 
less  than  an  epoch-making  book.  The  stirring  force  of 
these  ballads,  which  sprang  directly  from  the  hearts  of 
the  people,  increased  dissatisfaction  with  the  coldness 
of  classical  models.  Thomas  Warton's  "  History  of  Eng- 
lish Poetry,"  pubhshed  between  1774  and  1781,  revealed 
the  treasures  of  earlier  Enghsh  literature.  In  1765 
Horace  Walpole  laid  the  foundation  of  the  modern  roman- 
tic novel  with  his  "Castle  of  Otranto,"  a  wild  extravagant 
story  of  "  miracles,  necromancy,  dreams,  and  other  preter- 
natural evils  beheved  in  during  the  Middle  Ages."  Two 
remarkable  forgeries,  which  gave  rise  to  much  discussion 
in  their  day,  were  associated  with  the  romantic  tendency. 
The  first  was  the  "Poems  of  Ossian,"  put  forth  by  James 
Macpherson  in  1762  as  a  translation  of  a  Gaelic  bard  of 
the  third  century.  The  other  was  the  "  Rowley  Poems," 
written  by  a  marvellous  boy  of  seventeen,  Thomas  Chatter- 


286  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

ton,   and   purporting  to  be  the  work  of  a  priest  of  the 
fifteenth  century.  ' 

Two  other  characteristics  are  to  be  noted  in  the  poetry 
of  this  period.  The  first  is  the  new  interest  in  man,  apart 
from  class  or  rank.  There  is  a  new  appreciation  of  the 
worth  and  dignity  of  human  nature.  This  fact  may  be 
regarded  as  one  of  the  manifestations  of  the  democratic 
tendency  of  the  age.  In  his  famous  "  Elegy,"  Gray  cele- 
brates — 

"  The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor." 

Goldsmith  dwells  on  the  various  phases  of  humble  life 
in  "The  Deserted  Village";  and  Burns,  filled  with  the 
rising  spirit  of  democracy,  exclaims, — 

"  What  tho'  on  hamely  fare  we  dine, 

Wear  hodden  gray,  and  a'  that ; 
Gie  fools  their  silks,  and  knaves  their  wine  — 

A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that. 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

Their  tinsel  show,  and  a'  that ; 
The  honest  man,  though  e'er  sae  poor, 


Is  king  of  men  for  a'  that. 


Nature,  likewise,  appears  in  a  new  relation.  Instead  of 
serving  exclusively  as  a  background  for  human  interests, 
it  is  loved  and  studied  for  its  own  sake.  Rural  scenes 
and  country  life  are  frequently  depicted.  This  tendency 
began,  as  we  have  seen,  with  Thomson's  "Seasons."  But 
his  descriptions,  though  often  minute  and  admirable,  were 
too  systematic  and  cold.  He  seems  to  have  studied  nature 
as  a  self-imposed  task  rather  than  from  the  drawings  of  a 
sympathetic  love.  In  the  "Minstrel"  of  James  Beattie, 
published  in  1 771,  we  first  meet  with  descriptions  of  nature 


AGE    OF  JOHNSON.  28/ 

in  the  spirit  of  Wordsworth  and  more  recent  writers.     The 
minstrel  boy  "  knew  great  Nature's  charms  to  prize." 

"  And  oft  the  craggy  cliff  he  loved  to  climb, 
When  all  in  mist  the  world  below  was  lost  — 
What  dreadful  pleasure!  there  to  stand  sublime, 
Like  shipwrecked  mariner  on  desert  coast, 
And  view  the  enormous  waste  of  vapor,  tossed 
In  billows,  lengthening  to  the  horizon  round, 
Now  scooped  in  gulfs,  with  mountains  now  embossed, 
And  hear  the  voice  of  mirth  and  song  rebound  ; 
Flocks,  herds,  and  waterfalls,  along  the  hoar  profound!" 

The  same  love  of  nature,  as  we  shall  see,  is  found  in 
Goldsmith,  Cowper,  and  Burns. 


288  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 

There  is  no  other  English  author  with  whom  we  are  so 
intimately  acquainted.  Through  the  hero-worship  of  his 
biographer  Boswell,  we  are  permitted  to  see  and  hear  him 
as  he  appeared  in  the  circle  of  his  most  intimate  friends. 
We  get  close  to  the  man  as  he  actually  was.  We  know 
his  prejudices,  foibles,  and  peculiarities ;  and,  strange  to 
say,  this  minute  acquaintance  does  not  lessen,  but  increases 
our  admiration  and  love.  He  was  a  piece  of  rugged  Alpine 
manhood.  But  his  towering  greatness  was  softened  by  a 
benevolence  that  never  failed  to  reach  out  a  helping  hand 
to  the  needy  ;  and  his  brusqueness  of  manner  was  relieved 
by  an  integrity  of  character  that  scorned  every  form  of 
hypocrisy.  In  the  midst  of  so  much  pettiness  and  cant,  it  is 
delightful  to  contemplate  his  sturdy  uprightness  and  inde- 
pendence ;  as  Carlyle  said  of  Luther,  "A  true  son  of  nature 
and  fact,  for  whom  these  centuries,  and  many  that  are  to 
come  yet,  will  be  thankful  to  Heaven." 

His  peculiarities  of  person  and  manner  are  well  known. 
He  was  ponderous  in  body  as  in  intellect.  A  scrofulous 
affection,  for  which  Queen  Anne  had  laid  royal  hands 
upon  him,  had  disfigured  his  face,  and  also  tinged  his  mind, 
perhaps,  with  whim  and  melancholy.  He  had  a  rolling 
walk,  and  made  it  a  habit  to  touch  the  posts  as  he  passed. 
His  appetite  for  tea  was  enormous ;  and  he  ate  with  an 
absorbing  interest  that  might  properly  be  called  ravenous. 


Engraved  by  William  IJ(,ugluv  alter  the  painting  by  Sir  Joshua  Reytiolds,  London.    Pulilislied, 

irili. 


(Ju/^WdJtU. 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON,  289 

His  sight  was  defective ;  but  when  Reynolds  painted  him 
with  a  pen  held  close  to  his  eye,  he  protested  that  he  did 
not  want  to  descend  to  posterity  as  "blinking  Sam."  He 
was  singularly  insensible  to  music  ;  and  when  a  musical 
performance  was  praised  as  being  difficult,  he  simply  said 
that  he  wished  it  had  been  impossible.  After  he  had  pub- 
lished his  dictionary  he  was  once  with  a  friend  at  the  top 
of  a  hill.  "  I  haven't  had  a  roll  for  a  long  time,"  said 
the  great  lexicographer ;  and,  emptying  his  pockets,  he 
stretched  himself  on  the  ground,  turning  over  and  over, 
like  a  barrel,  till  he  reached  the  bottom. 

But  in  spite  of  physical  defects  and  eccentric  manners, 
he  dominated,  by  the  sheer  force  of  genius,  the  most  brill- 
iant club  of  London  and  became  the  most  imposing  literary 
figure  of  his  age.  In  conversation  he  was  ready  and 
eloquent,  though  apt  to  bear  down  an  opponent  by  mere 
vociferation  or  savage  personality.  "  There  is  no  arguing 
with  Johnson,"  said  Goldsmith;  "for  if  his  pistol  misses 
fire,  he  knocks  you  down  with  the  but-end  of  it."  He 
looked  upon  conversation  as  an  intellectual  wresthng  and 
delighted  in  it  as  a  skilled  and  powerful  athlete.  "  That 
fellow,"  he  once  said  when '  sick,  "  calls  forth  all  my 
powers.     Were  I  to  see  Burke  now,  it  would  kill  me." 

He  sometimes  offended  his  friends  by  his  rude  personal- 
ities ;  but  his  repentance  was  so  prompt  and  genuine  that 
he  was  speedily  forgiven.  He  set  a  high  value  on  friend- 
ship, which,  he  said,  one  ought  to  keep  in  constant  repair. 
"  I  look  upon  a  day  as  lost,"  he  said  in  his  later  years,  "  in 
which  I  do  not  make  a  new  acquaintance."  With  all  his 
clearness  of  judgment  and  honesty  of  purpose,  he  was 
sometimes  narrow  and  prejudiced  in   his   opinions.     Not 


290  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

everything  he  says  is  to  be  taken  as  true,  though  expressed 
in  the  most  dogmatic  way.  "  No  man  but  a  blockhead," 
he  said,  "ever  wrote  except  for  money."  His  principles  as 
a  Tory  and  Churchman  sometimes  warped  his  literary 
criticism.  Upon  the  death  of  Dr.  Bathurst,  a  friend  of  his 
earlier  years,  he  said :  "  Dear  Bathurst  was  a  man  to  my 
very  heart's  content ;  he  hated  a  fool,  and  he  hated  a  rogue, 
and  he  hated  a  Whig ;  he  w^as  a  very  good  hater." 

Samuel  Johnson  was  born  at  Lichfield  in  1709,  the  son 
of  a  bookseller  of  considerable  ability  and  reputation.  As 
a  boy  he  was  fond  of  athletic  exercises,  in  which  he  ex- 
celled ;  and  he  possessed  a  constitutional  fearlessness  that 
made  him  a  natural  leader.  At  the  grammar  school  of 
his  native  town  he  acquired  the  rudiments  of  Latin  under 
a  stern  discipHne.  Though  he  afterward  complained  of 
the  severity  of  his  teachers,  he  remained  a  believer  in  the 
virtues  of  the  rod.  "A  child  that  is  flogged,"  he  said, 
"gets  his  task,  and  there's  an  end  on't;  whereas  by  excit- 
ing emulation  and  comparisons  of  superiority,  you  lay  the 
foundations  of  lasting  mischief ;  you  make  brothers  and 
sisters  hate  each  other." 

He  left  school  at  sixteen  and  spent  the  next  two  years 
at  home,  probably  learning  his  father's  business.  He  con- 
tinued his  studies,  became  a  good  Latin  scholar,  and  accu- 
mulated large  stores  of  general  information.  He  was  a 
voracious  reader.  In  1728  he  entered  Pembroke  College, 
Oxford,  with  an  unusual  store  of  knowledge.  He  suffered 
from  poverty,  and  at  the  end  of  three  years  he  left 
the  university  without  taking  a  degree.  Attacks  of 
melancholy  sometimes  drove  him  to  the  verge  of  insanity. 
When  reminded  in  after  years  that  he  had  been  "a  gay 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON.  29 1 

and  frolicsome  fellow,"  he  replied  :  "  Ah,  sir,  I  was  mad 
and  violent.  It  was  bitterness  which  they  mistook  for 
frolic.  I  was  miserably  poor,  and  I  thought  to  fight  my 
way  by  my  literature  and  my  wit ;  so  I  disregarded  all 
power  and  all  authority."  In  his  poverty  he  remained 
proud ;  and  when  a  new  pair  of  shoes  was  placed  at  his 
door  by  some  benevolent  person,  he  ungraciously  flung 
them  away. 

In  1 73 1  he  left  the  university  to  make  his  way  in  the 
world.  For  the  next  thirty  years  his  life  was  a  constant 
struggle  with  poverty  and  hardship.  Though  of  a  deeply 
religious  nature,  he  did  not  turn  to  the  church  for  a  living. 
He  tried  teaching,  and  failed.  At  the  age  of  twenty-six 
he  married  a  fat,  gaudy  widow  of  forty-eight.  To  John- 
son's defective  sight  she  always  remained  a  "  pretty  crea- 
ture," while  she  had  discernment  enough  to  see  the  worth 
and  ability  of  her  husband.  Though  his  declaration,  that 
"it  was  a  love  match  on  both  sides,"  is  apt  to  meet  with 
some  incredulity,  the  marriage  did  not  prove  an  unhappy 
one,  and  there  is  something  pathetic  in  the  tenderness 
with  which  he  always  referred  to  her. 

In  1737  he  went  to  London  with  three  or  four  guineas 
and  half  of  the  tragedy  of  "  Irene  "  in  his  pocket.  Litera- 
ture at  this  time  did  not  offer  an  inviting  field.  It  gen- 
erally meant  poorly  paid  hack-work  for  publishers.  Long 
afterward,  in  recalling  the  trials  of  this  period,  Johnson 
burst  into  tears.  One  of  the  publishers  to  whom  he 
appHed  for  work  advised  him,  after  surveying  his  athletic 
frame,  to  get  a  "porter's  knot  and  carry  trunks."  He  was 
often  in  want  of  food,  clothes,  and  lodging.  In  these  days 
of  precarious  livelihood  he  was  befriended  by  Harry  Her- 


292  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

vey,  toward  whom  he  ever  afterward  cherished  a  Hvely 
sense  of  gratitude.  "  Harry  Hervey,"  he  said  shortly  be- 
fore his  death,  "was  a  vicious  man,  but  very  kind  to  me. 
If  you  call  a  dog  Hervey,  I  shall  love  him." 

Notwithstanding  his  dependent  condition,  he  did  not 
become  obsequious.  His  feeling  of  manly  independence 
and  self-respect  never  deserted  him.  He  was  employed 
once  by  Osborne  to  make  a  catalogue  of  the  Harleian 
Library.  Reproved  by  his  employer  in  an  offensive  man- 
ner for  negligence,  Johnson  knocked  him  down  with  a 
huge  Greek  folio. 

The  year  after  his  arrival  in  London,  we  find  him  at 
work  on  the  Gentleman's  Magazine,  a  periodical  of  wide 
circulation.  His  most  important  contributions  were  his 
reports  of  the  proceedings  of  Parliament,  which  the  pub- 
lisher, as  a  measure  of  precaution,  sent  forth  as  "  Reports 
of  the  Debates  of  the  Senate  of  Lilliput."  He  was  fur- 
nished with  notes,  generally  meagre  and  inaccurate ;  and 
on  these  as  a  basis  it  was  his  business  to  write  the 
speeches.  He  did  the  work  marvellously  well.  Many 
years  afterward  one  of  Pitt's  speeches  was  pronounced 
superior  to  anything  in  Demosthenes.  Johnson  repUed, 
"I  wrote  that  speech  in  a  garret  in  Exeter  Street."  When 
his  impartiality  was  once  praised  in  a  friendly  company, 
he  answered  with  charming  frankness,  "  That  is  not  quite 
true ;  I  saved  appearances  pretty  well,  but  I  took  care  that 
the  Whig  dogs  should  not  have  the  best  of  it." 

In  1738  appeared  a  poem  entitled  "London,"  an  imita- 
tion of  the  third  satire  of  Juvenal.  It  met  with  a  favor- 
able reception ;  and  though  it  brought  the  author  only  ten 
guineas  in  money,  it  served  to  direct  attention  to  him  as 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON.  293 

a  man  of  genius.  It  was  published  anonymously  ;  but 
Pope  declared  on  reading  it  that  the  author  could  not  long 
remain  concealed.  Its  general  theme  is  found  in  the  fol- 
lowing lines,  which  were  written  doubtless  with  all  the 
conviction  of  bitter  experience  :  — 

"This  mournful  truth  is  everywhere  confessed, 
Slow  rises  worth  by  poverty  depressed  ; 
But  here  more  slow,  where  all  are  slaves  to  gold ; 
Where  looks  are  merchandise  and  smiles  are  sold ; 
Where,  won  by  bribes,  by  flatteries  implored, 
The  groom  retails  the  favors  of  his  lord."' 


& 


Another  work  appearing  in  1744  added  much  to  John- 
son's reputation.  One  of  his  Grub  Street  acquaintances 
was  Richard  Savage,  a  man  of  noble  birth  but  profligate 
life.  In  spite  of  an  insolent  manner,  he  was  of  agreeable 
companionship  and  wide  experience.  He  had  passed 
through  great  vicissitudes  of  fortune ;  and  on  his  death, 
Johnson  wrote  his  life  in  a  masterly  manner.  "  No  finer 
specimen  of  literary  biography,"  says  Macaulay,  "existed 
in  any  language,  living  or  dead."  It  had  the  effect  of 
pretty  well  establishing  Johnson's  fame. 

In  1747  he  was  applied  to  by  several  eminent  book- 
sellers to  prepare  a  "  Dictionary  of  the  English  Lan- 
guage." The  remuneration  agreed  upon  was  fifteen 
hundred  guineas.  The  plan  was  issued  and  addressed  to 
Lord  Chesterfield,  the  most  polished  man  of  his  time. 
This  distinguished  lord  had  at  one  time  given  the  burly 
scholar  encouragement ;  but  repelled  at  last  by  his  boor- 
ishness  of  manner,  he  had  politely  shaken  him  off.  He 
characterized  Johnson  as  a  "  respectable  Hottentot,  who 
throws  his  meat  anywhere  but  down  his  throat."      "This 


294  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

absurd  person,"  he  says  again,  "was  not  only  uncouth  in 
manners  and  warm  in  dispute,  but  behaved  exactly  in  the 
same  way  to  superiors,  equals,  and  inferiors ;  and  there- 
fore, by  a  necessary  consequence,  absurdly  to  two  of  the 
three."  Johnson's  opinion  of  Chesterfield  contained  just 
as  little  flattery.  He  denounced  that  nobleman's  "  Let- 
ters "  as  teaching  the  morals  of  a  harlot  and  the  manners 
of  a  dancing-master.  At  another  time  he  said,  "  I  thought 
this  man  had  been  a  lord  among  wits;  but  I  find  he  is  only 
a  wit  among  lords." 

After  seven  years  of  drudgery  Johnson  brought  his 
work  to  a  close.  In  hopes  of  having  it  dedicated  to  him- 
self, Chesterfield  took  occasion  to  recommend  it  in  two 
letters  published  in  the  World,  a  periodical  to  which  men 
of  rank  and  fashion  frequently  contributed.  The  proud 
scholar  was  not  to  be  appeased ;  and  his  reply  was  terrific 
—  "  the  far-famed  blast  of  doom  proclaiming  into  the  ear 
of  Lord  Chesterfield,"  says  Carlyle,  "and  through  him  of 
the  listening  world,  that  patronage  should  be  no  more." 
"Is  not  a  patron,  my  lord,"  wrote  Johnson,  "one  who 
looks  with  unconcern  on  a  man  struggling  for  life  in  the 
water,  and-  when  he  has  reached  the  ground  encumbers 
him  with  help }  The  notice  which  you  have  been  pleased 
to  take  of  my  labors,  had  it  been  earlier,  had  been  kind ; 
but  it  has  been  delayed  till  I  am  indifferent,  and  cannot 
enjoy  it ;  till  I  am  solitary,  and  cannot  impart  it ;  till  I 
am  known,  and  do  not  want  it.  I  hope  it  is  no  very  cyni- 
cal asperity  not  to  confess  obligations  where  no  benefit 
has  been  received,  or  to  be  unwilling  that  the  public 
should  consider  me  as  owing  that  to  a  patron  which 
Providence  has  enabled  me  to  do  for  myself." 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON.  295 

Johnson  defined  a  lexicographer  as  a  "  harmless  drudge." 
This  is  fairly  descriptive  of  the  nature  of  his  work,  which 
consisted  in  collecting,  defining,  and  illustrating  all  the 
words  in  the  language.  Judged  by  present  high  stand- 
ards, the  work  is  defective.  Scientific  etymology  was  not 
yet  in  existence.  But  it  far  surpassed  anything  before  it 
and  was  received  with  enthusiasm  by  the  English  people. 

Johnson's   energies  were  not  wholly  expended   on   the 

drudgery    of   the    "Dictionary."     In    1749   he    published 

another    imitation    of    Juvenal,    entitled    the    "Vanity   of 

Human    Wishes."     It   is    written    with   much    vigor,  and 

in    passages    surpasses    the    original.        The    vanity    of 

the   warrior's    pride    is    illustrated    by    Charles    XII.    of 

Sweden  :  — 

"  He  left  a  name  at  which  the  world  grew  pale 
To  point  a  moral,  or  adorn  a  tale." 

To  the  ambitious  scholar  he  says  :  — 

"  Deign  on  the  passing  world  to  turn  thine  eyes, 
And  pause  awhile  from  letters  to  be  wise ; 
There  mark  what  ills  the  scholar's  life  assail, 
Toil,  envy,  want,  the  patron,  and  the  jail. 
See  nations,  slowly  wise,  and  meanly  just. 
To  buried  merit  raise  the  tardy  bust. 
If  dreams  yet  flatter,  once  again  attend. 
Hear  Lydiat's  life  and  Galileo's  end." 

The  poem  brought  him  little  besides  a  growing  reputa- 
tion. A  few  days  after  the  publication  of  the  "  Vanity  of 
Human  Wishes"  his  tragedy  of  "Irene"  was  brought 
upon  the  stage  by  Garrick.  It  was  heard  with  respectful 
attention.  After  running  nine  nights,  it  was  withdrawn, 
and  has  never  since  been  acted.     "  When  Johnson  writes 


296  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

tragedy,"  said  Garrick,  "declamation  roars  and  passion 
sleeps ;  when  Shakespeare  wrote  he  dipped  his  pen  in 
his  own  heart."  Johnson  took  the  failure  of  his  tragedy 
with  philosophical  calmness.  It  brought  him  all  together 
about  three  hundred  pounds,  in  which  no  doubt  he  found 
substantial  consolation. 

In  1750  he  began  the  publication  of  the  Rambler,  a 
periodical  resembling  the  Spectator.  It  appeared  twice  a 
week  for  two  years.  The  range  of  subjects  is  wide  and 
interesting.  The  prevailing  tone  is  'serious  and  moral. 
Though  coldly  received  at  the  time  of  first  issue,  yet 
afterward  collected  into  volumes,  the  papers  had  an 
extraordinary  circulation.  No  fewer  than  ten  editions 
appeared  during  the  author's  life. 

His  style  is  characterized  by  an  artificial  stateliness  and 
a  preponderance  of  Latin  words.  "  I  have  labored,"  he 
says  in  the  closing  paper,  "to  refine  our  language  to 
grammatical  purity  and  to  clear  it  from  colloquial  bar- 
barisms, licentious  idioms,  and  irregular  combinations. 
Something,  perhaps,  I  have  added  to  the  elegance  of  its 
construction  and  something  to  the  harmony  of  its  ca- 
dence." He  lacked  the  delicate  touch  of  Addison.  Of 
his  moral  aim  he  says  :  "  The  essays  professedly  serious, 
if  I  have  been  able  to  execute  my  own  intentions,  will  be 
found  exactly  conformable  to  the  precepts  of  Christianity, 
without  any  accommodation  to  the  licentiousness  and  levity 
of  the  present  age.  I  therefore  look  back  on  this  part  of 
my  work  with  pleasure,  which  no  praise  or  blame  of  man 
can  diminish  or  augment.  I  shall  never  envy  the  honors 
which  wit  and  learning  obtain  in  any  other  cause,  if  I  can 
be  numbered  among  the  writers  who  have  given  ardor  to 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON.  297 

virtue  and  confidence  to  truth."  The  Rambler  is  a 
dehghtful  book  with  which  to  spend  an  occasional  half 
hour.  It  is  filled  with  sober  wisdom,  and  some  of  the 
papers  are  singularly  beautiful. 

In  1759  Johnson's  mother  died  at  Lichfield  at  the  age 
of  ninety.  He  was  still  involved  in  financial  troubles.  In 
order  to  gain  money  for  her  funeral  expenses,  he  wrote  in 
a  single  week  the  story  of  "  Rasselas."  It  is  his  most 
popular  work.  Its  main  theme  is  announced  in  the  open- 
ing sentence:  "Ye  who  listen  wdth  credulity  to  the  whis- 
pers of  fancy,  and  pursue  with  eagerness  the  phantoms  of 
hope  ;  who  expect  that  age  will  perform  the  promises  of 
youth,  and  that  the  deficiencies  of  the  present  day  will  be 
supplied  by  the  morrow ;  attend  to  the  history  of  Rasselas, 
prince  of  Abyssinia."  The  story  makes  no  pretensions  to 
historical  accuracy ;  the  Abyssinians  brought  before  us 
are  in  reality  highly  cultivated  Europeans.  But  it  is 
written  with  Johnson's  peculiar  eloquence  and  exhibits 
fully  his  moral  and  reflective  temperament. 

The  year  1762  saw  an  important  change  in  Johnson's 
condition.  He  received  a  pension  of  three  hundred  pounds 
a  year.  In  his  "  Dictionary  "  he  had  defined  a  pension  as 
"generally  understood  to  mean  pay  given  to  a  state  hire- 
ling for  treason  to  his  country."  Being  assured  that  he 
did  not  come  within  the  definition,  and  that  the  pension 
was  accorded  in  recognition  of  past  services,  he  accepted 
it  after  some  hesitation.  It  placed  him  for  the  first  time 
in  circumstances  of  independence,  and  allowed  him  to  in- 
dulge his  constitutional  indolence.  He  talked  at  night 
and  slept  during  the  day,  rising  at  two  in  the  afternoon. 
"  I  cannot  now  curse  the  House  of  Hanover,"  he  said  in 


298  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

appreciative  reference  to  his  pension  ;  "  but  I  think  that 
the  pleasure  of  cursing  the  House  of  Hanover  and  drink- 
ing King  James's  health,  all  amply  overbalanced  by  three 
hundred  pounds  a  year." 

No  longer  driven  by  necessity,  his  pen  became  less  busy. 
His  principal  influence  was  exerted  through  conversation. 
His  colloquial  powers  were  of  the  highest  order.  In  the 
Club,  which  included,  among  others.  Goldsmith,  Burke, 
Reynolds,  and  Garrick,  he  was  easily  first.  The  opinion 
of  the  Club  carried  great  weight ;  and  for  a  time  his  posi- 
tion might  be  described  as  literary  dictator  of  England. 
Meeting  the  king  one  day  in  the  royal  library,  he  was 
asked  by  his  Majesty  if  he  intended  to  give  the  world  any 
more  of  his  compositions.  "  I  think  I  have  written  enough," 
said  Johnson.  "  And  I  should  think  so  too,"  replied  his 
Majesty,  "if  you  had  not  written  so  well"  —  a  compliment 
of  which  Johnson  was  very  proud. 

In  1773  Johnson  made  a  journey  to  the  Hebrides.  He 
was  kindly  received  on  his  journey  through  Scotland.  His 
prejudices  against  the  Scotch  were  softened  to  a  harmless 
foible.  He  made  inquiries  concerning  the  poems  of  Ossian. 
He  denounced  Macpherson's  work  as  a  forgery.  Receiv- 
ing a  furious  and  threatening  letter  from  the  author  of 
"  Ossian,"  Johnson  replied :  "  I  hope  I  shall  never  be 
deterred  from  detecting  what  I  think  a  cheat  by  the 
menaces  of  a  ruffian."  In  anticipation  of  personal  vio- 
lence, he  provided  himself  with  a  heavy  stick,  of  which, 
had  occasion  offered,  he  would  doubtless  have  made  vig- 
orous use. 

The  results  of  this  trip  are  given  in  a  pleasant  volume 
entitled  "Journey  to  the  Hebrides."     The  style  is,  as  usual, 


SAMUEL  JOHNSOM.  299 

elaborate  and  stately.  Writing  to  an  intimate  friend  from 
the  Hebrides,  he  says  with  colloquial  ease  and  pith,  "  When 
we  were  taken  upstairs,  a  dirty  fellow  bounced  out  of  the 
bed  on  which  one  of  us  was  to  lie."  In  the  book  this  inci- 
dent is  translated  into  his  artificial  literary  style  as  follows  : 
"  Out  of  one  of  the  beds  on  which  we  were  to  repose, 
started  up,  at  our  entrance,  a  man  black  as  a  Cyclops  from 
the  forge." 

In  1777  a  number  of  London  booksellers  decided  to  pub- 
lish a  collection  of  English  poetry.  Johnson  was  asked  to 
prepare  the  introductory  biographical  and  critical  sketches. 
The  result  was  his  "  Lives  of  the  Poets,"  the  work,  perhaps, 
by  which  he  will  be  longest  known.  In  the  judgment  of 
Macaulay  it  is  more  interesting  than  any  novel.  In  many 
respects  it  is  an  admirable  production.  Without  much 
patient  research  after  biographical  material,  it  gives  the 
leading  facts  in  the  life  of  each  poet,  together  with  a  mas- 
terly analysis  of  his  character  and  a  critical  examination 
of  his  works.  It  is  less  ponderous  in  style  than  his  earlier 
writings.  That  it  is  independent  in  judgment  goes  with- 
out saying.  His  criticisms,  always  worth  attention,  are  not 
always  just.  He  was  sometimes  influenced  by  his  preju- 
dices, as  in  the  case  of  Milton  and  Gray;  and  he  attached 
too  much  importance  to  the  logical  and  didactic  elements 
of  poetry.  He  had  no  ear  for  the  music  of  poetry;  and 
that  subtle,  ethereal  quality,  which  raises  it  above  prose, 
could  not  be  grasped  by  his  clumsy  critical  principles. 

One  of  the  great  charms  of  the  "  Lives  of  the  Poets  " 
consists  in  the  shrewd  observations  upon  life  and  character 
with  which  the  book  abounds.  Discussing  Dryden's  finan- 
cial difficulties,  he  remarks  :  "  It  is  well  known  that  he  sel- 


300  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

dom  lives  frugally  who  lives  by  chance.  Hope  is  always 
liberal,  and  they  that  trust  her  promises  make  little  scruple 
of  revelling  to-day  on  the  profits  of  the  morrow."  The 
work  contains  the  materials  for  a  collection  of  maxims 
as  interesting  as  those  of  La  Rochefoucauld  and  much 
more  truthful.  "Very  near  to  admiration,"  he  says, 
"is  the  wish  to  admire."  The  rich  treasures  of  wis- 
dom, which  long  experience  and  reflection  had  stored  in 
his  spacious  mind,  are  scattered  through  his  pages  with 
lavish  hand. 

Much  of  interest  in  Johnson's  life  is  necessarily  omitted : 
the  strange  crowd  of  dependents  he  maintained  at  his 
home ;  his  relation  with  the  Thrales  ;  a  great  store  of  in- 
teresting anecdote  preserved  to  us  by  his  satellite  Boswell. 
Though  for  a  time  oppressed  with  a  dread  of  death,  he 
met  it,  as  the  end  drew  near,  with  manly  courage.  In  his 
last  sickness  he  was  visited  by  many  of  his  old  friends. 
"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Burke,  "that  so  many  of  us  must  be 
oppressive  to  you."  —  "  No,  sir,  it  is  not  so,"  replied  John- 
son ;  "  and  I  must  be  in  a  wretched  state  indeed  when 
your  company  would  not  be  a  delight  to  me."  —  "You  have 
always  been  too  good  to  me,"  said  Burke,  with  a  breaking 
voice,  as  he  parted  from  his  old  friend  for  the  last  time. 
Now  and  then  there  was  a  flash  of  the  old  vigor  and 
humor.  Describing  a  man  who  sat  up  with  him,  he  said  : 
"  Sir,  the  fellow's  an  idiot ;  he's  as  awkward  as  a  turnspit 
when  first  put  into  the  wheel,  and  as  sleepy  as  a  dormouse." 
His  last  words  were  a  benediction.  A  young  lady  begged 
his  blessing.  "  God  bless  you,  my  dear,"  he  said  with  in- 
finite tenderness.  Nothing  could  have  been  more  charac- 
teristic of  his  great,  benevolent  heart.     He  peacefully  died- 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON.  3OI 

Dec.  13,  1784.     He  had  once  playfully  said  to  Goldsmith, 
when  visiting  the  Poets'  Corner  of  Westminster  Abbey, 

"Forsitan  et  nostioim  nomen  niiscebitur  istis."  ^ 

The  prediction  and  the  wish  were  fulfilled.  And  among 
the  wise  and  great  who  repose  there,  there  is  no  one  whose 
massive  intellect,  honest  worth,  and  great  heart  command 
our  admiration  and  love  in  a  higher  degree  than  Samuel 
Johnson. 

^  Perhaps  our  names  will  be  mingled  with  them. 


302  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


/7^f  _  .nj9 

OLIVER    GOLDSMITH. 

A  STRAlsiGE  combination  of  weakness  and  strength,  of 
genius  and  folly.  "Inspired  idiot"  is  the  terrific  phrase 
with  which  Horace  Walpole  once  described  him.  It  is  a 
gross  caricature  indeed,  but  having  truth  enough  at  bottom 
to  be  perpetuated.  Goldsmith  belonged  to  a  literary  club, 
the  members  of  which  occasionally  dined  together.  Gold- 
smith was  usually  one  of  the  last  to  arrive.  While  waiting 
for  him  one  day,  the  company  playfully  composed  a  num- 
ber of  epitaphs  on  "  the  late  Mr.  Goldsmith."  The  epitaph 
by  Garrick,  the  celebrated  actor,  has  been  preserved  as  a 
happy  hit :  — 

"  Here  lies  poet  Goldsmith,  for  shortness  called  Noll, 
Who  wrote  like  an  angel  and  talked  like  poor  Poll." 

There  are  other  anecdotes  illustrating  Goldsmith's  awk- 
wardness in  conversation.  He  greatly  lacked  self-confi- 
dence and  had  a  faculty  for  blundering.  His  friends 
sometimes  took  advantage  of  his  weaknesses  and  for 
amusement  tricked  him  into  saying  and  doing  absurd 
things.  He  has  suffered  also  from  thick-headed  critics, 
who  have  sometimes  misunderstood  his  delicate  humor. 
Boswell,  who  was  no  friendly  critic,  but  who  reported  facts 
truthfully,  says  :  "  It  has  been  generally  circulated  and  be- 
lieved that  Goldsmith  was  a  mere  fool  in  conversation  ;  but 
in  truth,  this  has  been  greatly  exaggerated."  In  spite  of 
his  deficiencies,  he  sometimes  got  the  better  of  Dr.  John- 


Engraved  in  mezzotint  liv  .lox'pli  .Munin  altiT  tlic  painting  by  Sir  Joshua  Rc■yn|pul^,  l.uniiuu. 

l'iil)lishe(i,  1770. 


&Cr^  y^^ru^ 


OLIVER    GOLDSMITH.  303 

son,  the  clearest  and  strongest  talker  of  his  time.  Talking 
of  fables  once,  Goldsmith  remarked  that  the  animals  intro- 
duced seldom  talked  in  character.  "  For  instance,"  he  said, 
"  take  the  fable  of  the  little  fishes  who  saw  birds  fly  over 
their  heads,  and  envying  them,  petitioned  Jupiter  to  be 
changed  into  birds.  The  skill  consists  in  making  them 
talk  like  little  fishes."  Dr.  Johnson  took  exception  to  the 
remark.  "Ah,  Doctor,"  he  replied,  "this  is  not  so  easy 
as  you  may  think;  for  if  you  were  to  make  little  fishes 
talk,  they  would  talk  hke  whales." 

But  we  turn  to  his  life.  Scarcely  any  other  English 
author  has  put  into  his  writings  so  much  of  his  character 
and  experience.  Oliver  Goldsmith  was  born  at  Pallas  in 
the  county  of  Longford,  Ireland,  in  1 728,  the  son  of  a  Protes- 
tant clergyman.  About  two  years  later  his  father  moved  to 
the  village  of  Lissoy  in  the  county  of  Westmeath,  where 
he  enjoyed  a  better  living.  An  unusual  interest  is  con- 
nected with  that  home.  The  amiable  piety,  learned  sim- 
plicity, and  guileless  wisdom  of  his  father  are  portrayed  in 
the  immortal  "Vicar  of  Wakefield."  It  was  a  fireside 
where  a  Christian  benevolence  was  inculcated  and  prac- 
tised. The  memories  of  this  home  never  left  Goldsmith ; 
and  years  afterward,  in  his  "Deserted  Village,"  he  gave 
a  famous  description  of  "the  village  preacher's  modest 
mansion":  — 

"  A  man  he  was  to  all  the  country  dear, 
And  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year; 
Remote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly  race. 
Nor  e'er  had  changed,  nor  wished  to  change  his  place." 

At  the  age  of  six  years  Goldsmith  was  sent  to  the  village 
school  taught  by  Thomas  Byrne,  an  old  soldier  with  a  large 


304  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

stock  of  stories.     Of  him  also  we  have  a  portrait  in  the 
"Deserted  Village":  — 

"  A  man  severe  he  was,  and  stern  to  view, 
1  knew  him  well,  and  every  truant  knew : 
Well  had  the  boding  tremblers  learned  to  trace 
The  day's  disasters  in  his  morning  face. 
Full  well  they  laughed  with  counterfeited  glee 
At  all  his  jokes,  for  many  a  joke  had  he  ; 
Full  well  the  busy  whisper  circling  round, 
Conveyed  the  dismal  tidings  when  he  frowned." 

As  a  pupil  he  was  dull  —  a  stupid  blockhead  he  was 
thought  to  be ;  but  his  amiability  and  thoughtless  gener- 
osity, which  characterized  him  all  through  life,  made  him 
popular  with  his  schoolmates.  An  incident  that  occurred 
in  his  sixteenth  year  not  only  throws  light  upon  his  char- 
acter, but  also  shows  the  origin  of  his  most  famous  com- 
edy. He  was  returning  home  from  Edgeworthstown, 
where  he  had  been  attending  school.  He  had  borrowed  a 
horse  for  the  journey  and  received  from  a  friend  a  guinea. 
He  at  once  began  to  put  on  airs  and  to  affect  the  gentle- 
man. Arriving  in  a  village  at  nightfall,  he  inquired  for 
the  best  house  in  the  place  and  was  directed  by  a  wag  to 
the  private  house  of  a  gentleman  of  fortune.  Accordingly 
he  rode  up  to  what  he  supposed  to  be  an  inn,  ordered  his 
horse  to  be  taken  to  the  stable,  walked  into  the  parlor, 
seated  himself  by  the  fire,  and  demanded  what  he  could 
have  for  supper.  The  gentleman  of  the  house,  discover- 
ing his  mistake,  concluded  to  humor  him,  and  gave  him 
the  freedom  of  the  house  for  the  evening.  He  was  highly 
elated.  When  supper  was  served,  he  insisted  that  the 
landlord,  his  wife,  and  daughter  should  eat  with  him,  and 


OLIVER    GOLDSMITH.  305 

ordered  a  bottle  of  wine  to  crown  the  repast.  When  next 
morning  he  discovered  his  blunder,  his  sense  of  humilia- 
tion can  easily  be  imagined.  With  the  literary  instinct 
that  turned  all  his  experiences  to  account,  he  dramatized 
this  incident  many  years  afterward  in  "  She  Stoops  to 
Conquer;  or,  The  Mistakes  of  a  Night."  Throughout  his 
life,  as  in  this  case,  the  possession  of  money  made  a  fool 
of  him. 

In  his  seventeenth  year  Goldsmith  entered  Trinity  Col- 
lege, Dublin,  as  a  sizar.  This  relation  was  naturally 
repugnant  to  his  timid  and  sensitive  nature.  His  tutor 
was  ill-tempered  and  harsh ;  some  studies,  especially 
mathematics  and  logic,  were  distasteful  to  him.  His 
social  nature  betrayed  him  into  a  neglect  of  his 'studies, 
and  his  love  of  fun  got  him  into  trouble.  Having  once 
gained  a  prize  of  thirty  shillings,  he  gave  a  dance  at  his 
room  to  some  young  men  and  women  of  the  city.  This 
was  a  violation  of  the  college  rules  ;  and  his  tutor, 
attracted  by  the  sound  of  the  fiddle,  rushed  to  the  scene 
of  festivity,  gave  Goldsmith  a  thrashing,  and  turned  his 
guests  out  of  doors. 

An  anecdote,  belonging  to  this  period,  illustrates  the 
tender  heart  and  inconsiderate  benevolence  that  charac- 
terized his  whole  life.  He  had  been  invited  to  breakfast 
by  a  college  friend,  and,  failing  to  make  his  appearance, 
was  visited  at  his  room.  There  he  was  found  in  bed, 
buried  in  feathers  up  to  his  chin.  The  evening  before, 
a  woman  with  five  children  had  told  him  a  pitiful  tale  of 
her  distress  and  need.  It  was  too  much  for  his  sym- 
pathetic nature ;  and  bringing  the  woman  to  the  college 
gate,  he  gave  her  the  blankets  off  his  bed  and  a  part  of  his 


306  ENGLISH  LITERATVRE. 

clothing  to  sell  and  buy  bread.     Getting  cold  in  the  night, 
he  ripped  open  his  bed  and  buried  himself  in  the  feathers. 

In  due  course  he  took  his  bachelor's  degree  and  returned 
to  his  home.  It  had  been  sadly  changed  by  the  death  of 
his  father.  The  next  two  or  three  years  were  spent  in  a 
desultory  way ;  while  ostensibly  preparing  to  take  orders, 
he  was  in  reahty  spending  his  time  in  miscellaneous  read- 
ing and  rustic  convivialities.  He  did  not  like  the  clerical 
profession.  "  To  be  obliged  to  wear  a  long  wig  when  I 
liked  a  short  one,"  he  says  in  explanation  of  his  antipathy, 
"  or  a  black  coat  when  I  generally  dressed  in  brown,  I 
thought  such  a  restraint  upon  my  liberty  that  I  absolutely 
rejected  the  proposal." 

His  fondness  for  gay  dress  was  a  weakness  throughout 
his  life  and  more  than  once  exposed  him  to  ridicule. 
When  the  time  for  his  examination  came,  he  appeared 
before  the  Bishop  of  Elphin  arrayed  in  scarlet  breeches. 
This  silly  breach  of  propriety  cost  him  the  good  opinion  of 
the  bishop  and  led  to  his  rejection. 

Then  followed  a  succession  of  undertakings  and  failures 
without  parallel.  He  became  tutor  in  a  good  family  and 
lost  his  position  on  account  of  a  quarrel  at  cards.  He 
then  resolved  to  emigrate  to  America  and  left  for  Dublin 
mounted  on  a  good  horse  and  having  thirty  guineas  in  his 
pocket.  In  six  weeks  he  returned  to  his  mother's  door  in 
a  condition  not  unlike  that  of  the  prodigal  son.  Every 
penny  was  gone.  He  explained  that  the  ship  on  which 
he  had  engaged  passage  had  sailed  while  he  was  at  a 
party  of  pleasure.  The  ship  had  been  waiting  for  a  favor- 
able wind;  "and  you  know,  mother,"  he  said,  "that  I 
could  not  command  the  elements." 


OLIVER    GOLDSMITH.  307 

His  uncle  Contarine,  who  was  one  of  the  few  that  had 
not  lost  all  confidence  in  him,  gave  him  fifty  pounds  with 
which  to  go  to  London  for  the  purpose  of  studying  law. 
He  reached  Dublin  on  his  way  ;  but  unfortunately  he  met 
an  old  acquaintance,  who  allured  him  into  a  gambling 
house.     He  came  out  penniless. 

He  was  next  advised  to  try  medicine  ;  and  a  small  purse 
having  been  made  up  for  him,  he  set  out  for  Edinburgh. 
He  remained  there  eighteen  months,  during  which  he 
picked  up  a  little  medical  science.  But  most  of  his  time 
was  spent  in  convivial  habits.  With  gaming,  feasting, 
and  reckless  generosity,  he  was  often  brought  into  financial 
difficulties. 

Then  he  went  to  Leyden,  ostensibly  for  the  purpose  of 
completing  his  medical  studies,  but  really,  there  is  reason 
to  believe,  for  the  purpose  of  gratifying  his  roving  dis- 
position. He  spent  a  year  in  that  city  with  his  usual 
improvidence.  A  friend  provided  him  with  money  to  go 
to  Paris.  The  mania  for  tulip  culture  still  prevailed  in 
Holland.  'One  day,  w^andering  through  a  garden,  Gold- 
smith suddenly  recollected  that  his  uncle  Contarine,  his 
steadfast  benefactor,  was  a  tulip  fancier.  Here,  then,  was 
an  opportunity  to  show  his  appreciation.  A  number  of 
choice  and  costly  bulbs  were  purchased ;  and  not  till  after 
he  had  paid  for  them  did  he  reflect  that  he  had  spent  all 
the  money  designed  for  his  travelling  expenses.  In  this 
extremity  he  set  out  on  foot  with  his  flute.  "  I  had  some 
knowledge  of  music,"  says  the  Philosophic  Vagabond  in 
the  "Vicar  of  Wakefield,"  "with  a  tolerable  voice;  I  now 
turned  what  was  once  my  amusement  into  a  present  means 
of  subsistence.     I  passed  among  the  harmless  peasants  of 


308  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Flanders  and  among  such  of  the  French  as  were  poor 
enough  to  be  merry ;  for  I  ever  found  them  sprightly  in 
proportion  to  their  wants.  Whenever  I  approached  a 
peasant's  house,  I  played  one  of  my  merriest  tunes,  and 
that  procured  me  not  only  a  lodging,  but  subsistence  for 
the  next  day."  In  this  way  he  was  able  to  make  the  tour 
of  Europe,  visiting  Flanders,  France,  Switzerland,  Ger- 
many, and  Italy.  At  Padua  he  is  said  to  have  taken  his 
medical  degree.  These  travels,  as  we  shall  see,  were 
afterward  to  be  turned  to  good  account. 

In  1756  he  returned  to  England.  "You  may  easily 
imagine,"  he  wrote  to  a  friend  afterward,  "what  difficul- 
ties I  had  to  encounter,  left  as  I  was  without  friends, 
recommendations,  money,  or  impudence,  and  that  in  a 
country  where  being  an  Irishman  was  sufficient  to  keep 
me  unemployed.  Many  in  such  circumstances  would  have 
had  recourse  to  a  friar's  cord  or  the  suicide's  halter.  But, 
with  all  my  follies,  I  had  principle  to  resist  the  one  and 
resolution  to  combat  the  other." 

He  went  to  London,  where  for  the  next  seve?al  years  he 
led  an  existence  miserable  enough.  He  became  succes- 
sively an  usher  in  a  school,  an  apothecary's  assistant,  a 
practising  physician  —  and  failed  in  them  all.  At  last, 
after  other  unlucky  ventures,  he  settled  down  to  the 
drudgery  of  a  literary  hack.  From  this  humiliating  sta- 
tion he  was  lifted  by  the  force  of  genius  alone. 

He  began  by  writing  for  reviews  and  magazines,  and 
compiling  easy  histories.  His  first  serious  undertaking 
was  "An  Inquiry  into  the  State  of  Learning  in  Europe," 
with  which  his  career  as  an  author  may  be  said  to  begin. 
His  work  gradually  gained  recognition  and  brought  him 


OLIVER    GOLDSMIIH.  3O9 

better  pay.  His  circle  of  acquaintance  widened  and 
included  the  most  distinguished  literary  talent  of  his 
time.  Burke  had  discovered  his  genius ;  Percy,  after- 
ward Bishop  of  Dromore,  sought  him  out  in  his  garret ; 
and  most  important  of  all,  Johnson,  the  great  Cham,  as 
he  has  been  humorously  styled,  sought  his  acquaintance. 
He  had  met  Reynolds  and  Hogarth.  In  1763  he  became 
one  of  the  original  nine  members  of  the  Club,  which  in- 
cluded among  others  Johnson,  Reynolds,  and  Burke,  and 
to  which  were  added  subsequently  Garrick  and  Boswell. 
He  was  thus  brought  into  intimate  fellowship  with  the 
choicest  minds  of  the  English  metropolis. 

Having  attracted  their  notice  by  the  humor,  grace,  and 
picturesqueness  of  his  style  in  writing,  he  won  their  affec- 
tion by  the  guilelessness  and  amiability  of  his  character. 
There  was  a  charm  in  his  personality  that  triumphed 
over  his  weaknesses  and  drew  the  strongest  and  best  men 
to  him  in  tender  friendship.  That  same  charm  exists  in 
his  works ;  and  with  the  possible  exception  of  Addison, 
he  is,  what  Thackeray  claims  for  him,  "  the  most  beloved 
of  EngUsh  writers." 

The  lesson  of  economy  he  never  learned.  His  growing 
income  had  enabled  him  to  take  better  lodgings.  But 
in  1764  we  find  him  in  arrears  for  his  board  and  in  the 
hands  of  the  sheriff.  He  sent  for  Johnson.  "  I  sent  him 
a  guinea,"  says  Johnson,  "and  promised  to  come  to  him 
directly.  I  accordingly  went  as  soon  as  I  was  dressed 
and  found  that  his  landlady  had  arrested  him  for  rent, 
at  which  he  was  in  a  violent  passion.  I  perceived  that 
he  had  already  changed  my  guinea  and  got  a  bottle  of 
Madeira  and  a  glass  before   him.      I   put  the   cork   into 


310  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

the  bottle,  desired  he  would  be  calm,  and  began  to  talk 
to  him  of  the  means  by  which  he  might  be  extricated. 
He  then  told  me  that  he  had  a  novel  ready  for  the  press, 
which  he  produced  to  me.  I  looked  into  it  and  saw  its 
merit ;  told  the  landlady  I  should  return  soon ;  and  hav- 
ing gone  to  a  bookseller,  sold  it  for  sixty  pounds.  I 
brought  Goldsmith  the  money,  and  he  discharged  his 
rent,  not  without  rating  his  landlady  in  a  high  tone  for 
having  treated  him  so  ill."  But.  speedily  relenting,  he 
called  her  to  share  in  a  bowl  of  punch. 

The  novel  in  question  was  no  other  than  the  "Vicar 
of  Wakefield"  —  "one  of  the  most  delicious  morsels  of 
fictitious  composition,"  justly  observes  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
"on  which  the  human  mind  was  ever  employed."  The 
plot  is  indeed  faulty ;  but  the  charm  of  the  characters,  the 
ludicrousness  of  the  situations,  the  grace  of  style,  and 
the  delicacy  of  humor  make  it  a  book  which  we  read  with 
delight  in  youth  and  return  to  with  pleasure  in  maturity 
and  old  age.  Notwithstanding  its  high  rank  as  a  work 
of  genius,  the  stupid  publisher  kept  it  in  hand  two  years 
before  venturing  to  give  it  to  the  public. 

In  1764,  while  the  "Vicar  of  Wakefield"  was  being 
held  by  the  publisher,  Goldsmith  published  a  poem  called 
the  "Traveller."  It  was  the  first  work  to  which  he  at- 
tached his  name.  The  time  was  favorable  for  its  appear- 
ance, inasmuch  as  the  British  Muse  was  doing  but  little. 
Johnson  kindly  lent  his  assistance  in  bringing  it  out, 
reading  over  the  proof-sheets,  and  adding  here  and  there 
a  line.  The  merits  of  the  poem  were  soon  recognized, 
and  the  general  opinion  agreed  that  nothing  better  had 
appeared  since  the  time  of  Pope.  Goldsmith  dedicated  it 
to  his  brother  :  — 


•     OLIVER    GOLDSMITH.  3II 

"Where'er  I  roam,  whatever  reahns  to  see, 
My  heart  uiitravelled  fondly  turns  to  thee ; 
Still  to  my  brother  turns,  with  ceaseless  pain, 
And  drags  at  each  remove  a  lengthening  chain." 

It  embodies  the  observations  of  his  tour  on  the  Con- 
tinent; but  — 

"  Vain,  very  vain,  my  weary  search  to  find 
That  bliss  which  only  centres  in  the  mind : 
Why  have  I  strayed  from  pleasure  and  repose 
To  seek  a  good  each  government  bestows  ? 
In  every  government,  though  tyrants  reign, 
Though  tyrant  kings,  or  tyrant  laws  restrain. 
How  small,  of  all  that  human  hearts  endure. 
That  part  which  laws  or  kings  can  cause  or  cure  ? 
Still  to  ourselves  in  every  place  consigned, 
Our  own  felicity  we  make  or  find  ; 
With  secret  course,  which  no  loud  storms  annoy, 
Glides  the  smooth  current  of  domestic  joy." 

The  Earl  of  Northumberland  read  the  poem  and  was 
greatly  pleased  with  it.  He  sent  for  Goldsmith ;  and 
after  stating  that  he  had  been  appointed  Lord  Lieutenant 
of  Ireland,  he  expressed  a  willingness  to  do  the  poet  any 
kindness  in  his  power.  Goldsmith's  genius  for  blundering 
did  not  desert  him.  He  said  that  he  had  a  brother  in 
Ireland  that  needed  help ;  but  as  for  himself,  he  did  not 
place  much  dependence  in  the  promises  of  the  great  and 
looked  to  the  booksellers  for  a  support. 

Goldsmith  continued  to  do  hack  writing  for  the  book- 
sellers, but  did  not  neglect  original  composition.  In  1768 
appeared  his  comedy  of  "The  Good-Natured  Man."  It 
was  refu.sed  by  Garrick,  notwithstanding  the  intercession 
of  Reynolds,  and  was  brought  out  at  Covent  Garden,     It 


312  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

did  not  gain  the  applause  it  merited,  but  as  a  financial 
venture  it  was  a  success.  It  was  acted  for  nine  nights ; 
and,  including  the  copyright,  it  brought  the  author  no  less 
than  five  hundred  pounds.  That  was  a  dangerous  sum 
for  a  man  of  his  improvident  habits.  He  at  once  rented 
elegant  lodgings,  at  a  cost  of  four  hundred  pounds,  and 
gave  dinners  to  Johnson,  Reynolds,  and  other  friends  of 
note.  His  chambers  were  often  the  scene  of  gay 
festivities ;  and  Blackstone,  who  occupied  rooms  immedi- 
ately below,  and  was  engaged  on  his  "  Commentaries," 
used  to  complain  of  the  racket  overhead.  At  this  rate  his 
means  were,  of  course,  soon  exhausted. 

His  labors  for  the  booksellers  included  his  "  Animated 
Nature,"  "  History  of  Rome,"  "  History  of  England,"  and 
"  History  of  Greece."  These  compilations  were  hardly 
worthy  of  his  genius,  but  they  brought  him  the  means  of 
livelihood.  "  I  cannot  afford  to  court  the  draggle-tail 
muses,"  he  once  said  ;  "they  would  let  me  starve  ;  but  by 
my  other  labors  I  can  make  shift  to  eat,  and  drink,  and 
have  good  clothes."  But  even  his  compilations  bore  the 
trace  of  his  genius  in  the  clear  arrangement  of  facts  and 
in  his  felicitous  mode  of  treatment.  "Whether,  indeed, 
we  take  him  as  a  poet,  as  a  comic  writer,  or  as  an  his- 
torian," declared  Johnson,  "he  stands  in  the  first  class." 

In  1770  appeared  the  "  Deserted  Village."  In  this  he 
cast  a  glory  around  his  native  village,  to  which,  as  he 
approached  the  end  of  his  Hfe,  his  mind  reverted  with 
peculiar  tenderness.  The  political  economy  presented  is 
indeed  false ;  but  the  pictures  the  poem  brings  before  us 
are  as  enduring  as  the  language.  Every  one  is  acquainted 
with  Paddy  Byrne  :  — 


OLIVER    GOLDSMITH.  313 

"In  arguing,  too,  the  parson  owned  his  skill ; 
For  e'en  thougli  vanquished,  he  could  argue  still." 

And  then  the  village  preacher  —  a  portrait  of  Gold- 
smith's father  and  his  brother  Henry.  It  is  one  of  the 
most  delightful  descriptions  in  the  English  language, 
rivalled  alone  by  Chaucer's  parson :  — 

"  And  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries 
To  tempt  its  new-fledged  offspring  to  the  skies, 
He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  dull  delay, 
Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way." 

The  poem  was  at  once  successful  and  has  since  retained, 
through  all  changes  of  taste,  its  place  as  a  classic. 

In  1773  he  gave  his  comedy,  "She  Stoops  to  Conquer," 
to  the  public.  The  plot  turns  on  an  incident  suggested  by 
his  blunder  as  a  schoolboy.  The  theatrical  manager  pre- 
dicted a  complete  failure,  and  Goldsmith  was  in  great  dis- 
tress. But  the  night  of  the  first  presentation  the  theatre 
was  filled ;  and  the  humorous  dialogue  and  the  ridiculous 
incidents  kept  the  audience  in  a  roar  of  laughter.  It  has 
since  retained  its  place  on  the  stage. 

During  the  last  years  of  his  life  Goldsmith's  income  was 
about  four  hundred  pounds  a  year.  With  a  little  economy 
this  would  have  enabled  him  to  live  in  comfort  and  ease. 
But  his  extravagance  and  heedless  benevolence  left  him  in 
debt. 

The  end  came  April  3,  1784.  When  the  news  was 
brought  to  Burke,  he  burst  into  tears.  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds laid  aside  his  pencil.  But  more  significant  than  all 
was  the  lamentation  of  the  old  and  the  infirm  on  his  stairs 
—  helpless  creatures  to  whose  supplications  he  had  never 


314  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

turned  a  deaf  ear.  Johnson  wrote  his  epitaph,  in  which 
it  is  said  that  he  "  left  scarcely  any  style  of  writing  un- 
touched, and  touched  nothing  that  he  did  not  adorn."  In 
the  words  of  Thackeray  :  "  Think  of  him  reckless,  thriftless, 
vain  if  you  like — ^but  merciful,  gentle,  generous,  full  of 
love  and  pity.  He  passes  out  of  our  life  and  goes  to 
render  his  account  beyond  it.  Think  of  the  poor  pen- 
sioners weeping  at  his  grave ;  think  of  the  noble  spirits 
that  admired  and  deplored  him  ;  think  of  the  righteous  pen 
that  wrote  his  epitaph  —  and  the  wonderful  and  unanimous 
response  of  affection  with  which  the  world  has  paid  back 
the  love  he  gave  it.  His  humor  delighting  us  still ;  his 
song  fresh  and  beautiful  as  when  he  first  charmed  with  it ; 
his  words  in  all  our  mouths ;  his  very  weaknesses  beloved 
and  famiUar  —  his  benevolent  spirit  seems  still  to  smile 
upon  us  ;  to  do  gentle  kindnesses ;  to  succor  with  sweet 
charity ;  to  caress,  to  sooth,  and  forgive ;  to  plead  with  the 
fortunate  for  the  unhappy  and  the  poor." 


From  a  paiutiug  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 


EDWARD    GIBBON.  315 


EDWARD   GIBBON. 

The  treatment  of  any  great  historical  subject  demands  at 
once  wealth  and  leisure.  It  is  only  under  these  conditions 
that  the  historian,  no  matter  what  may  be  his  genius,  is 
able  to  collect  and  digest  the  large  amount  of  material  that 
now  enters  into  our  best  historical  works.  The  most  emi- 
nent historians  of  modern  times  have  been  men  of  ample 
means ;  and  aspiring  genius,  if  fettered  by  poverty,  had 
better  seek  its  conquests  in  fiction  or  poetry  rather  than  in 
history. 

Gibbon  is  chief  of  the  historians  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury. Hume  and  Robertson  are  generally  classed  with 
him,  though  their  works  have,  in  large  measure,  been  su- 
perseded. Taken  together,  they  formed  the  modern  school 
of  history.  Previous  historical  writing  was  chiefly  imagi- 
native. It  was  concerned  with  a  pleasing  narrative  rather 
than  with  actual  truth.  But  the  historical  writing  of  the 
eighteenth  century  became  more  philosophical.  It  took 
broader  views,  inquired  more  after  causes,  and  carefully 
traced  results.  It  aimed  to  recreate  the  past,  and  to  this 
end  it  relied  less  upon  the  imagination  than  upon  research. 
The  basis  of  Gibbon's  great  work  is  a  scholarship,  the 
breadth  and  accuracy  of  which  command  our  admiration. 

Not  the  least  interesting  and  instructive  of  Gibbon's 
writings  is  his  "  Autobiography,"  written,  as  he  tells  us, 
for  his  own  amusement.     He  affirms  the  unblushing  truth 


3l6  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

of  his  narrative ;  and  though  this  may  be  questioned,  he 
has  undoubtedly  presented  a  tolerably  complete  and  faith- 
ful picture  of  himself.  He  felt  what  he  regarded  as  a 
natural  interest  in  his  ancestors,  and  traced  them  back 
to  the  early  part  of  the  fourteenth  century,  when  they 
had  landed  possessions  in  the  county  of  Kent.  One  of 
them  was  architect  to  Edward  III.  and  built  "the  stately 
castle  of  Queensborough  "  ;  another  was  Lord  High  Treas- 
urer in  the  reign  of  Henry  VI. ;  still  another  resided  for 
a  time  in  Virginia,  where,  observing  the  tattooing  of  the 
Indians,  he  "exceedingly  wondered  and  concluded  that 
heraldry  was  ingrafted  naturally  into  the  sense  of  the 
human  race."  His  immediate  ancestors  were  tradesmen 
in  London,  where  they  acquired  considerable  wealth. 
His  father  was  a  member  of  Parliament,  where  he  acted 
with  the  Tories,  to  whom  "he  gave  many  a  vote,"  and 
with  whom  "  he  drank  many  a  bottle." 

Edward  Gibbon  was  born  in  the  county  of  Surrey, 
April  27,  1737,  the  oldest  of  seven  children  and  the  only 
one  to  survive  infancy.  His  own  health  was  so  feeble 
that  his  life  was  often  despaired  of.  He  was  saved  only 
by  the  tender  assiduity  of  a  maiden  aunt,  whom  he  ever 
afterward  held  in  grateful  remembrance.  "  A  life  of 
celibacy  transferred  her  vacant  affection  to  her  sister's 
first  child;  my  weakness  excited  her  pity;  her  attach- 
ment was  fortified  by  labor  and  success;  and  if  there 
be  any,  as  I  trust  there  are  some,  who  rejoice  that  I 
live,  to  that  dear  and  excellent  woman  they  must  hold 
themselves  indebted." 

He  mastered  the  arts  of  reading,  writing,  and  arith- 
metic  at  an   early  age.     He    showed    great    precocity  in 


EDWARD    GIBBON.  317 

figures ;  and  it  was  his  opinion  that,  had  he  persevered, 
he  might  have  acquired  some  fame  in  mathematical 
studies.  His  earliest  tutor  was  the  Rev.  John  Kirby,  an 
author  of  some  reputation.  In  his  ninth  year  he  entered 
the  school  at  Kingston-upon-Thames.  His  delicate  rear- 
ing had  i3repared  him  neither  for  the  strict  discipline 
nor  the  rougher  games  of  the  school.  "  By  the  common 
methods  of  discipline,"  he  says,  "at  the  expense  of  many 
tears  and  some  blood,  I  purchased  the  knowledge  of  Latin 
syntax."  But  his  studies  were  interrupted  by  sickness, 
and  after  a  real  or  nominal  residence  of  two  years  at 
Kingston  School  he  was  finally  recalled  by  the  death  of 
his  mother. 

He  again  passed  under  the  care  of  his  devoted  aunt,  to 
whom  he  ascribes  his  early  and  invincible  love  of  reading, 
which  seemed  to  him  more  precious  than  the  treasures  of 
India.  At  Kingston  School  he  had  already  become 
familiar  with  Pope's  "Homer"  and  the  "Arabian 
Nights";  and  he  now  eagerly  perused  poetry  and  ro- 
mance, history  and  travels.  In  1749  he  entered  West- 
minster School,  which,  he  remarks,  did  "not  exactly 
correspond  with  the  precept  of  a  Spartan  king,  '  that 
the  child  should  be  instructed  in  the  arts  which  will  be 
useful  to  the  man.'  "  His  progress  was  not  rapid.  "  In 
the  space  of  two  years,"  to  borrow  his  own  words,  "  inter- 
rupted by  danger  and  debility,  I  painfully  climbed  into  the 
third  form ;  and  my  riper  age  was  left  to  acquire  the 
beauties  of  the  Latin  and  the  rudiments  of  the  Greek 
tongue." 

In  his  fifteenth  year  his  physical  infirmities  suddenly 
disappeared,  and    he   went  to   Oxford   "  with    a  stock  of 


3l8  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

erudition  that  might  have  puzzled  a  doctor,  and  a  degree 
of  ignorance  of  which  a  schoolboy  would  have  been 
ashamed."  His  attainments  in  history  were  astonishing. 
He  had  read  Herodotus,  Xenophon,  and  Tacitus  in  trans- 
lations ;  he  had  perused  a  long  list  of  modern  historians, 
whose  names  are  now  forgotten ;  he  had  swallowed  with 
voracious  appetite  descriptions  of  India  and  China,  of 
Mexico  and  Peru.  It  was  at  this  period  that  he  was  intro- 
duced to  the  historic  scenes  that  afterward  engaged  so 
many  years  of  his  hfe.  He  studied  the  lives  of  the  suc- 
cessors of  Gonstantine  and  the  story  of  the  barbarian 
invasions.  He  became  interested  in  Mahomet  and  his 
Saracens.  "  Before  I  was  sixteen,"  he  says,  "  I  had  ex- 
hausted all  that  could  be  learned  in  English  of  the  Arabs 
and  Persians,  the  Tartars  and  Turks." 

Gibbon's  sojourn  at  the  university  was  fruitless  in  learn- 
ing. In  a  most  scathing  criticism  he  defiantly  arraigns 
Oxford  for  its  faulty  organization  and  its  incredibly  care- 
less administration.  "  To  the  University  of  Oxford,"  he 
says,  "  I  acknowledge  no  obligation ;  and  she  will  as 
cheerfully  renounce  me  for  a  son  as  I  am  willing  to  dis- 
claim her  for  a  mother.  I  spent  fourteen  months  at  Mag- 
dalen Gollege ;  they  proved  the  fourteen  months  the 
most  idle  and  unprofitable  of  my  whole  life."  He  re- 
ceived scarcely  any  instruction ;  he  was  not  even  directed 
in  his  studies  and  reading  ;  and,  worst  of  all,  no  restraint 
whatever  was  placed  on  his  tendencies  to  idleness  and 
dissipation.  As  a  gentleman-commoner,  he  was  admitted 
to  the  Society  of  the  Fellows  of  the  University ;  but  he 
found  that  "from  the  toil  of  reading  or  thinking  or  writ- 
ing  they   had  absolved   their  consciences ;   and  the   first 


EDWARD    GIBBON.  319 

shoots  of  learning  and  ingenuity  withered  on  the  ground, 
without  yielding  any  fruits  to  the  owners  or  the  public." 

But  his  idle  life  at  the  university  was  not  sufficient  to 
extinguish  his  literary  bent.  During  a  long  vacation  his 
taste  for  reading  revived  ;  and  without  original  learning  or 
skill  in  the  art  of  composition,  he  resolved  to  write  a  book. 
His  subject  was  "The  Age  of  Sesostris "  ;  and  in  the 
author's  mature  judgment  it  was  most  notable  for  its 
ambitious  efforts  in  chronology.  He  speedily  recognized 
its  imperfections  of  style  and  treatment,  and  this  humili- 
ating discovery  he  notes  as  "the  first  symptom  of  taste." 

His  stay  at  Oxford  was  cut  short  by  his  conversion  to 
the  Church  of  Rome.  From  childhood  he  had  been  fond 
of  religious  disputation.  His  faith  in  Protestantism  was 
first  shaken,  by  Middleton's  "Free  Inquiry,"  which  ap- 
proached the  borders  of  infidelity.  Bossuet's  famous 
works,  the  "  Exposition  of  the  Catholic  Doctrine "  and 
the  "  History  of  Protestant  Variations,"  achieved  his  con- 
version;  and  surely,  he  adds,  "I  fell  by  a  noble  hand." 
In  1753  he  united  with  the  Roman  Catholic  Church.  His 
fervor  for  a  moment  raised  him  above  worldly  considera- 
tions;  and  in  a  letter,  "written  with  all  the  pomp,  the 
dignity,  and  self-satisfaction  of  a  martyr,"  he  announced 
his  change  of  faith  to  his  father. 

After  the  first  outbreak  of  indignation,  his  father  lost 
no  time  in  forming  a  new  plan  of  education,  and  in  devis- 
ing a  method  by  which  his  son  might  be  cured  of  his 
"  spiritual  malady."  Accordingly,  young  Gibbon  was  sent 
to  Lausanne,  where  he  was  placed  under  the  care  of  M. 
Pavilliard,  a  Calvinistic  clergyman  of  rare  tact  and  good 
sense.     Here  he  passed  the  next  five  years  of  his  life, 


320  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

which  proved  the  most  important  of  all  in  his  intellec- 
tual development.  He  studied  the  French  language  with 
such  diligence  that  it  became  his  spontaneous  vehicle  of 
thought  and  afterward  imparted  to  his  great  work  a 
Gallic  tinge. 

Under  the  wise  direction  of  his  instructor,  who  had 
won  his  confidence  and  respect,  he  entered  upon  a  seri- 
ous course  of  study,  which  included  the  Latin  and  Greek 
classics,  history,  logic,  mathematics,  philosophy,  and  juris- 
prudence. His  ardor  was  extraordinary.  "  The  desire 
of  prolonging  my  time,"  he  says,  "gradually  confirmed 
the  salutary  habit  of  early  rising,  to  which  I  have  always 
adhered."  Among  the  books  that  contributed  to  form 
the  historian  of  the  Roman  Empire,  he  particularly  men- 
tions Pascal's  "  Provincial  Letters."  His  mathematical 
studies  were  carried  as  far  as  conic  sections.  Then  he 
relinquished  the  study.  "  Nor  can  I  lament,"  he  adds, 
"that  I  desisted  before  my  mind  was  hardened  by  the 
habit  of  rigid  demonstration,  so  destructive  of  the  finer 
feelings  of  moral  evidence,  which  must,  however,  deter- 
mine the  actions  and  opinions  of  our  lives." 

Meanwhile  the  main  purpose  of  his  sojourn  at  Lau- 
sanne was  not  forgotten.  The  various  points  of  Roman 
Catholic  doctrine  were,  from  time  to  time,  brought  under 
discussion;  and  naturally  the  superior  skill  of  M.  Pavil- 
liard  made  itself  felt.  But  Gibbon's  mind  was  itself 
undergoing  a  change.  "I  am  willing,"  he  writes,  "to 
allow  him  a  handsome  share  of  the  honor  of  my  con- 
version ;  yet  I  must  observe  that  it  was  principally  ef- 
fected by  my  private  reflections."  Finally,  "the  various 
articles  of  the  Romish  creed  disappeared   Hke  a  dream ; 


EDWARD    GIBBON.  321 

and  after  a  full  conviction,  on  Christmas  Day,  1754,  I  re- 
ceived the  sacrament  in  the  church  of  Lausanne.  It  was 
here  that  I  suspended  my  religious  inquiries,  acquiescing 
with  implicit  belief  in  the  tenets  and  mysteries  which  are 
adopted  by  the  general  consent  of  Catholics  and  Protes- 
tants." 

While  at  Lausanne  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Vol- 
taire, whose  writings  appear  to  have  exerted  no  small 
influence  upon  him.  He  listened  with  admiration  while 
the  great  Frenchman  declaimed  his  verses  on  the  stage. 
He  frequented  the  theatre  which  Voltaire  had  opened  for 
the  representation  of  his  plays ;  and  the  pleasure  derived 
from  the  French  drama  abated  his  idolatry,  he  tells  us, 
**  for  the  gigantic  genius  of  Shakespeare,  which  is  incul- 
cated, from  infancy,  as  the  first  duty  of  an  English- 
man." 

It  was  at  this  time  that  Gibbon  met  Mademoiselle 
Curchod,  whose  beauty,  gifts,  and  culture  at  once  won 
his  heart.  The  attachment  appears  to  have  been  mutual ; 
but,  as  events  showed,  he  was  far  from  being  a  heroic 
lover.  For  a  time  he  indulged  his  dream  of  felicity ; 
"but  on  my  return  to  England,"  to  borrow  his  own  frank 
narrative,  "  I  soon  discovered  that  my  father  would  not 
hear  of  this  strange  alliance,  and  that  without  his  con- 
sent I  was  myself  destitute  and  helpless.  After  a  pain- 
ful struggle  I  yielded  to  my  fate :  I  sighed  as  a  lover,  I 
obeyed  as  a  son ;  my  wound  was  insensibly  healed  by 
time,  absence,  and  the  habits  of  a  new  life."  And  the 
young  lady .''  She  became  the  wife  of  Necker,  the  famous 
financier  and  minister  of  France,  and  the  mother  of  the 
celebrated  Madame  de  Stael.       The  tender  memories  of 

Y 


322  A/Vf,7/.S7/    1 1  rERATVRE. 

this  o;U"lv  ;itt;uhnu-iil  m-xi-i  rntirch'  \;inishril  ;  Gibhoii 
and  M.ulaino  Ncrkor  always  rcmaiiu'd  Iriciids.  It  is  a 
tribute  to  his  fidoHtv  that,  "  while  hi*  sighed  as  a  lover  and 
obeyed  as  a  son,"  ho  never  alleiward  thought  ol  marry- 
ing any  other. 

In  i^'^S  lu"  was  called  home.  I'lion^h  he  looked  lor 
ward  with  apprehension  to  meeting  his  lather,  he  was 
kintll\  reeeived  as  a  man  and  Iriend.  I  lis  relations  with 
his  stepmother,  wlio  was  at  lirst  regarded  with  jirejudiee, 
at  K-u;;th  In-eame  lilial  and  lender.  'Tlu'  next  two  years 
weie  piiMs.inlU'  spent  in  London  anil  ,il  the  lonntry  resi- 
dence ol  his  lalluM  in  llampshire.  Mis  social  circk'  in 
the  nuMropolis  at  this  time  remained  limited;  and  Ire- 
(pienll\'  withdrawing  liom  "  irowds  without  company, 
and  dissipation  withont  pleasure,"  he  stayed  in  his  room 
with  his  books.  "  1  h.id  not  hciii  i-ndowed,"  he  acknow- 
ledges, "  bN'  art  or  nature  with  those  h.ippy  gilts  of  con 
fidenee  anil  address  which  unlock  every  door  autl  every 
bosoni." 

At  his  father's  lounlry  residence  he  yielded  still  more 
to  his  studious  habits.  The  librarv  was  considered  his 
especial  dom.iin.  'To  overcome  the  inlluence  ol  his 
1^'rcnch  tr, lining,  he  n^ul  .\ddison  and  Swilt.  lie  ad- 
mired the  historical  writings  ol  Robertson,  whose  styK-  he 
hoped  some  d.iy  to  rival,  and  especially  those  ol  llume, 
whose  nameless  graces  lilled  him  at  once  with  delight  and 
des|)air.  It  was  at  this  time  that  he  began  the  formation 
of  his  own  i-xtcnsive  librarv  ;  but  \\c  ncx'cr  bought  a  book 
for  ostcnt.ition  ;  "  i'\ery  volume  beloix-  it  was  deposited  on 
the  shelf  was  either  read  or  suiru'iently  examineil."  lie 
made  copiou.s  notes  and   abstracts  of   his  extensive  read- 


EDWAKP  cm  HON.  323 

ing.  lie  look  but  lilllc  iuti-icst  in  the  uintisoiiu-nls  of 
the  country,  lie  seldom  niounlcd  ;i.  hoisc,  \v:is  iiulillcr- 
cnt  lo  Ihc  s|)oi1s  ol  the  eii;ise,  iind  even  his  philosophic 
walks  were  soon  tei  niinated  by  a  shady  beiu:li,  where  he 
devoted   hinisell    to   rc;i(lin.i;   f)r   meditation. 

Gibbon's  liist  publication  d;itcs  from  this  |)ci"iod.  I  lis 
"  F.ssai  sur  I'l'^tude  de  la  I  .ilteralure "  was  published  in 
London  in  1761.  It  has  been  variously  judj;-e(l  ;  but, 
owing  to  its  loreign  g";irl),  it  was  more  succcsslul  abroad 
than  at  home.  "In  l'ai};ian(l,"  he 'tells  us,  "it  was 
received  with  cold  indifference,  little  read,  and  speedily 
forgotten;  a  small  impression  was  slowly  dispersed;  the 
bookseller  murmured,  and  the  author  (had  his  Icelings 
been  more  exquisite)  might  have  wept  over  the  blunders 
and  baldness  of  the  English  translation."  \\\\\  alter  the 
publication  of  his  history,  lilteen  years  later,  he  had  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  a  copy  of  the  original  edition  ol 
the    "  ICssai  "   bring  the   fancifid    piice  of   thirty   shillings. 

Shortly  before  the  publication  of  the  "  ICssai,"  in  i/SO, 
he  entered  the  military  service  as  a  captain  of  militia  and 
spent  the  ne.xt  two  years  in  cam])ing,  drilling,  and  maich- 
ing  in  the  southern  c-ounties  ol  haigland.  l<'or  a  short 
time,  in  his  enthusiasm,  In-  thought  of  devoting  himsi-lt  to 
the  piofession  of  arms;  but  his  "bloodless  and  inglorious 
campaigns"  soon  cured  him  of  his  military  aspirations. 
The  mode  of  life  was  uncongenial,  and  In;  lamented  the 
time  lost  frmn  his  studies.  Yi-t  he  recognized  the  benefits 
of  his  military  experiences.  It  made  him  "an  haiglishman 
and  a  soldier";  and  what  be  especially  valued,  "  tlu-  dis- 
cipline and  evolution  ol  a  modern  battalion  gave  him  a 
clearei   notion  of   the   phalanx  and  legion;   and  the  captain 


324 


ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


of  the  Hampshire  grenadiers  (the  reader  may  smile)  has 
not  been  useless  to  the  historian  of  the  Roman  Empire." 

From  youth,  he  informs  us,  he  had  aspired  to  the  char- 
acter of  a  historian.  This  deep-seated  ambition  was  not 
forgotten  during  the  uncongenial  distractions  of  military 
life.  He  was  in  search  of  a  theme ;  and  in  turn  he 
thought  of  the  expedition  of  Charles  VHI.  into  Italy,  the 
crusade  of  Richard  I.,  the  barons'  war  against  King  John, 
the  life  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  and  then  of  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh.  On  sortie  of  these  subjects  he  did  no  small 
amount  of  reading ;  but  none  of  them  laid  hold  on  him 
with  irresistible  attraction.  It  was  not  till  his  journey  to 
Italy  two  years  later  that  he  found  the  subject  that  was 
long  to  engage  the  earnest  labors  of  his  maturest  man- 
hood. "It  was  at  Rome,"  he  says,  "on  the  15th  of 
October,  1764,  as  I  sat  musing  amidst  the  ruins  of  the 
capitol,  while  the  barefooted  friars  were  singing  vespers 
in  the  temple  of  Jupiter,  that  the  idea  of  writing  the 
decHne  and  fall  of  the  city  first  started  to  my  mind." 

After  the  disbanding  of  the  militia,  in  1763,  Gibbon 
spent  the  next  two  or  three  years  in  travel,  during  which 
he  visited  Paris,  Switzerland,  and  Italy.  He  was  charmed 
with  the  French  capital,  where  the  fame  of  his  "Essai" 
gained  him  admission  to  the  most  cultivated  literary  circles. 
His  association  with  D'Alembert,  Diderot,  Barthelemy, 
Helvetius,  Baron  d'Holbach,  and  others  of  the  same  scep- 
tical spirit,  no  doubt  intensified  his  growing  hostihty  to 
Christianity.  He  assiduously  studied  the  treasures  of  art 
that  had  been  accumulated  in  Paris  ;  and  without  sacrificing 
the  pleasures  of  society  and  of  the  drama,  he  diligently 
used  his  opportunities  to  promote  his  general  culture. 


EDWARD    GIBBON.  325 

He  spent  eleven  months  at  Lausanne,  where  "  the  good 
Pavilliard  shed  tears  of  joy  as  he  embraced  a  pupil  whose 
literary  merit  he  might  fairly  impute  to  his  own  labors." 
Here,  in  preparation  for  his  Italian  journey,  he  made  a 
laborious  review  of  Itahan  history  and  literature,  filling 
a  large  commonplace  book  with  notes  and  remarks. 
After  visiting  the  leading  Italian  cities,  he  went  to  Rome. 
"My  temper,"  he  says,  "is  not  very  susceptible  of  enthu- 
siasm, and  the  enthusiasm  which  I  do  not  feel  I  scorn  to 
affect.  But,  at  the  distance  of  twenty-five  years,  I  can 
neither  forget  nor  express  the  strong  emotions  which 
agitated  my  mind  as  I  first  approached  and  entered  the 
eternal  city." 

He  returned  to  England  in  1765,  and  the  next  five  years 
he  designates  as  the  least  satisfactory  of  his  life.  He 
annually  attended  the  meeting  of  the  militia  at  Southamp- 
ton, and  rose  to  the  rank  of  lieutenant-colonel ;  but  each 
year  he  was  more  and  more  disgusted  with  the  inn,  the 
wine,  the  company,  and  finally  he  resigned  his  empty 
commission.  He  lamented  the  absence  of  a  vocation  and 
his  consequent  idleness,  while  so  many  of  his  acquaintance 
were  advancing  with  rapid  steps  in  the  various  roads  of 
honor  and  fortune.  He  began  a  history  of  Switzerland ; 
but  soon  becoming  discouraged,  he  threw  his  manuscript 
aside  and  gave  up  the  attempt.  In  1770  he  successfully 
controverted  a  fanciful  interpretation  which  Bishop  War- 
burton,  in  his  "  Divine  Legation,"  had  placed  upon  the 
sixth  book  of  the  "  i^neid."  "  But  I  cannot  forgive  my- 
self," he  said  afterward,  "the  contemptuous  treatment  of  a 
man  who,  with  all  his  faults,  was  entitled  to  my  esteem." 

After  the  death   of  his  father,  in   1770,  he  came  into 


326  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

possession  of  a  moderate  estate,  of  which,  on  the  whole, 
he  made  a  judicious  use.  He  established  himself  in  Lon- 
don and  divided  his  time  between  study  and  society.  His 
circle  of  acquaintance  was  extended  till  it  embraced  nearly 
all  the  eminent  men  of  his  day.  He  joined  the  Literary 
Club,  of  which  Johnson,  Burke,  Garrick,  Reynolds,  Gold- 
smith, and  others  were  distinguished  members.  He  now 
undertook  the  composition  of  the  first  volume  of  his  His- 
tory, for  which  he  had  prepared  himself  by  careful  and 
elaborate  research.  "At  the  outset,"  he  says,  "all  was 
dark  and  doubtful  —  even  the  title  of  the  work,  the  true 
era  of  the  decline  and  fall  of  the  empire,  the  limits  of  the 
introduction,  the  division  of  the  chapters,  and  the  order 
of  the  narrative  —  and  I  was  often  tempted  to  cast  away 
the  labor  of  seven  years.  The  style  of  an  author  should 
be  the  image  of  his  mind,  but  the  choice  and  command  of 
language  is  the  fruit  of  exercise.  Many  experiments  were 
made  before  I  could  hit  the  middle  tone  between  a  dull 
chronicle  and  a  rhetorical  declamation ;  three  times  did  I 
compose  the  first  chapter,  and  twice  the  second  and  third, 
before  I  was  tolerably  satisfied  with  their  effect."  The 
first  volume  appeared  in  i  'j'j^  and  was  received  with  great 
applause.  Its  excellence  of  matter  and  .style  was  almost 
universally  recognized,  and  the  author  suddenly  found 
himself  famous. 

Two  years  before,  while  engaged  on  his  History,  he 
had  been  elected  to  a  seat  in  Parliament,  of  which  he  re- 
mained a  member  for  nearly  a  decade.  There  is  nothing 
in  his  parhamentary  career  to  add  to  his  fame.  His  timid- 
ity, as  well  as  the  weakness  of  his  voice,  prevented  him 
from    becoming   an   orator.      "  After   a   fleeting    illusive 


EDWARD    GIBBON.  32/ 

hope,"  he  says,  "prudence  condemned  me  to  acquiesce  in 
the  humble  station  of  a  mute."  In  the  conflict  between 
Great  Britain  and  America,  he  "  supported,  with  many  a 
sincere  and  silent  vote,  the  rights,  though  not  perhaps  the 
interests,  of  the  mother  country."  While  his  career  in 
Parliament  was  inglorious,  it  was  not  valueless  to  him.  It 
became  "  a  school  of  civil  prudence,  the  first  and  most 
essential  virtue  of  a  historian." 

In  1 78 1  he  published  two  more  volumes  of  his  History, 
which,  owing  to  the  opposition  aroused  by  his  hostile  atti- 
tude to  Christianity,  were  somewhat  coldly  received.  He 
long  hesitated  whether  he  should  push  his  History  beyond 
the  fall  of  the  Western  Empire.  During  this  period  of 
indecision,  he  turned  to  Greek  literature,  and  read,  not 
only  the  leading  historians,  but  also  the  poets  and  drama- 
tists. But  after  a  few  months  he  began  to  long  "  for  the 
daily  task,  the  active  pursuit,  which  gave  a  value  to  every 
book  and  an  object  to  every  inquiry ;  "  and  once  more  he 
turned  to  his  vast  undertaking. 

Finding  that  his  income  was  insufficient  for  the  style  of 
living  he  had  been  indulging  in  London,  he  resolved  to 
retire  to  Lausanne.  He  took  up  his  residence  there  in 
1783,  in  the  midst  of  delightful  and  congenial  society. 
After  a  delay  of  nearly  a  year,  occasioned  by  the  inci- 
dents of  his  removal,  he  settled  down  to  daily  toil  and  rap- 
idly pushed  his  book  to  completion.  "I  have  presumed," 
he  says,  "  to  mark  the  moment  of  conception  ;  I  shall 
now  commemorate  the  hour  of  my  final  deliverance. 
It  was  on  the  day,  or  rather  night,  of  the  27th  of  June, 
1787,  between  the  hours  of  eleven  and  twelve,  that  I 
wrote  the  last  lines  of  the  last  page,  in  a  summer-house  in 


328  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

my  garden.  After  laying  down  my  pen,  I  took  several 
turns  in  a  berccau,  or  covered  walk  of  acacias,  which 
commands  a  prospect  of  the  country,  the  lake,  and  the 
mountains.  The  air  was  temperate,  the  sky  was  serene, 
the  silver  orb  of  the  moon  was  reflected  from  the  waters, 
and  all  nature  was  silent.  I  will  not  dissemble  the  first 
emotions  of  joy  on  recovery  of  my  freedom  and  perhaps 
the  establishment  of  my  fame.  But  my  pride  was  soon 
humbled,  and  a  sober  melancholy  was  spread  over  my 
mind  by  the  idea  that  I  had  taken  an  everlasting  leave  of 
an  old  and  agreeable  companion,  and  that  whatsoever 
might  be  the  future  date  of  my  History,  the  life  of  the 
historian  must  be  short  and  precarious." 

After  an  absence  of  four  years,  he  returned  to  England 
with  the  manuscript  of  the  last  three  volumes,  which  were 
rapidly  carried  through  the  press.  The  day  of  publica- 
tion was  delayed  for  a  short  time,  that  it  might  fall  on 
the  fifty-first  anniversary  of  his  birth.  The  double  festi- 
val was  celebrated  by  a  literary  dinner  at  the  publisher's 
house,  where  the  historian  "  seemed  to  blush "  at  some 
fulsome  verses  in  his  praise.  The  concluding  vftlumes 
were  widely  read,  but  did  not  escape  considerable  adverse 
criticism.  The  entire  work  was  translated  into  French, 
German,  and  Italian,  and  on  the  Continent  generally  re- 
ceived the  recognition  to  which  its  merits  entitle  it. 

Gibbon  returned  to  Lausanne  in  1788,  where  the  next 
five  years  were  spent  in  the  miscellaneous  delights  of  his 
large  library.  It  was  during  this  period  that  he  wrote  the 
brief  but  admirable  "  Autobiography,"  afterward  given 
to  the  world  by  his  friend.  Lord  Sheffield.  The  storm 
of  the  French  Revolution  had  now  burst  on  Europe.     In 


EDWARD    GIBBOI\r.  329 

his  sympathies,  Gibbon  was  an  aristocrat,  and  the  "  Galhc 
frenzy,  the  wild  theories  of  equal  and  boundless  freedom," 
filled  him  with  terror.  The  democratic  leaven  found  its 
way  to  Switzerland.  In  the  prospect  of  possible  trouble, 
he  did  not  exhibit  a  heroic  spirit.  "  For  myself,"  he  wrote, 
"(may  the  omen  be  averted!)  I  can  only  declare  that  the 
first  stroke  of  a  rebel  drum  would  be  the  signal  of  my 
immediate  departure." 

He  returned  to  England  in  1793.  He  estimated  that 
"  the  laws  of  probability,  so  true  in  general,  so  fallacious 
in  particular,"  still  allowed  him  about  fifteen  years  of  life. 
He  looked  forward  to  this  closing  period  —  "the  mature 
season  in  which  our  passions  are  supposed  to  be  calmed, 
our  duties  fulfilled,  our  ambition  satisfied  "  —  with  a  mel- 
ancholy pleasure.  But  he  was  to  be  disappointed ;  the 
laws  of  probability  proved  fallacious  for  him.  He  died  of 
a  dropsical  affection  Jan.  16,  1794,  nine  months  after  his 
return  to  London. 

He  esteemed  his  lot  in  life  a  happy  one.  "When  I  con- 
template the  common  lot  of  mortality,"  he  writes,  "  I  must 
acknowledge  that  I  have  drawn  a  high  prize  in  the  lottery 
of  life.  The  far  greater  part  of  the  globe  is  overspread 
with  barbarism  or  slavery ;  in  the  civilized  world  the  most 
numerous  class  is  condemned  to  ignorance  and  poverty  ; 
and  the  double  fortune  of  my  birth  in  a  free  and  enlight- 
ened country,  in  an  honorable  and  wealthy  family,  is  the 
lucky  chance  of  an  unit  against  millions."  Few  men  have 
been  more  favored  in  outward  circumstances,  and  with  a 
genuine  Epicurean  spirit  he  knew  how  to  appreciate  and 
enjoy  them. 

The  essential  features  of  his  character  have  come  out  in 


330  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

the  course  of  this  sketch.  He  was  lacking  in  warmth,  en- 
thusiasm, heroic  virtue  ;  and  throughout  his  whole  life  we 
fail  to  discover  a  single  act  of  magnanimity.  Though  he 
formed  a  few  lasting  friendships,  he  was  not  one  to  draw 
about  him  a  large  circle  of  enthusiastic  admirers.  For  the 
rest,  we  may  accept  his  own  estimate  of  his  character  :  "  I 
am  endowed  with  a  cheerful  temper,  a  moderate  sensibility, 
and  a  natural  disposition  to  repose  rather  than  to  activity  ; 
some  mischievous  appetites  and  habits  have  perhaps  been 
corrected  by  philosophy  or  time.  The  lov^e  of  study,  a 
passion  which  derives  fresh  vigor  from  enjoyment,  supplies 
each  day,  each  hour,  with  a  perpetual  source  of  indepen- 
dent and  rational  pleasure." 

Gibbon's  fame  rests  almost  exclusively  on  his  "  History 
of  the  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,"  to  which 
he  devoted  twenty  laborious  years.  He  was  admirably 
equipped  by  nature  and  culture  for  this  vast  undertaking. 
He  had  a  natural  bent  for  historic  investigation.  Along 
with  a  wide  sweep  of  intellect,  he  had  a  genius  for  minute 
investigation.  He  had  a  strong  artistic  sense,  which  en- 
abled him  to  marshal  in  due  order  and  proportion  the  vast 
multitude  of  details.  His  methodical  habits  of  study  made 
him  master  of  all  available  sources  of  information.  Except 
when  Christianity  comes  under  review,  he  is  exceedingly 
judicious  in  weighing  evidence  and  forming  conclusions. 
In  treating  of  Christianity,  the  hostility  imbibed  from  the 
school  of  Voltaire  instantly  betrays  him  into  fallacy  or  un- 
fairness. In  spite  of  their  brilliant  and  subtle  irony,  the 
famous  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  chapters,  in  which  the 
rapid  spread  of  Christianity  is  accounted  for,  must  remain 
a  blemish,  not  only  on  the  great  work  itself,  but  on  the 
character  of  the  historian. 


EDWARD    GIBBON.  331 

The  style  of  "  The  Decline  and  Fall  "  is  remarkable  for 
its  stately  dignity.  It  has  been  characterized  as  "copious, 
splendid,  elegantly  rounded,  distinguished  by  supreme  ar- 
tificial skill."  It  is  enriched  by  suggestive  epithets.  With 
a  less  magnificent  subject,  the  style  must  have  been  con- 
demned as  false  or  even  ridiculous.  But  no  grander  theme 
ever  engaged  historian's  pen.  Mighty  movements  appear 
in  succession  upon  the  broad  historic  canvas  —  the  triumph 
of  Christianity,  the  invasions  of  the  barbarians,  the  devel- 
opment of  the  papal  power,  the  rise  of  Mohammedanism, 
the  rehgious  enthusiasm  of  the  crusades,  the  fall  of  Con- 
stantinople and  the  extinction  of  the  empire  of  the  East. 
It  was  but  natural  that  the  historian's  soul  should  be  ele- 
vated by  the  contemplation  of  so  grand  a  theme,  and  that 
his  style  should  rise  into  a  corresponding  dignity  and  splen- 
dor. 


332  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

WILLIAM    COWPER. 

There  are  two  reasons  why  the  poetry  of  Cowper, 
apart  from  its  intrinsic  excellence,  deserves  special  atten- 
tion. The  first  is,  that  it  marks  the  transition  from  the 
artificial  to  the  natural  school.  While  Cowper's  first  vol- 
ume clearly  shows  the  influence  of  Pope,  his  subsequent 
and  more  important  works  are  decidedly  modern  in  form 
and  spirit.  Breaking  away  from  the  restraint  of  artificial 
rules,  the  poet  comes  at  last  to  treat  of  man  and  nature 
with  simplicity  and  freedom.  He  exhibits  great  breadth 
of  sympathy.  Nature  is  studied  for  its  own  sake  and 
described  with  fond  picturesqueness  of  detail.  The 
various  interests  and  conditions  of  human  life  —  wealth 
and  poverty,  freedom  and  slavery,  city  and  country, 
knowledge  and  ignorance  —  are  all  brought  before  us  in 
an  unconventional  way. 

The  second  distinctive  feature  of  Cowper's  poetry  is  its 
religious  element.  He  was  the  poet  of  the  evangelical 
revival  in  England.  Other  great  poets  have  treated  moral 
and  religious  themes ;  but  Cowper  is  the  first  to  manifest 
a  deeply  pious  spirit.  No  doubt  the  religious  element  is 
sometimes  carried  to  excess ;  but  it  must  be  said  that  the 
moral  condition  of  England  at  this  time  required  vigorous 
preaching. 

The  life  of  Cowper  is  a  strangely  sad  one.  His  mor- 
bidly sensitive  nature  unfitted  him  for  contact  with  the 
ruthless  world.     "  Certainly  I    am  not  an  absolute  fool," 


Alter  tl>e  painting  by  (jcuru'''  Hmimi-y. 


^^^1-^ 


WILLIAM   COW  PER.  333 

he  wrote  in  one  of  his  letters,  "but  I  have  more  weak- 
nesses than  the  greatest  of  all  the  fools  I  can  recollect  at 
present.  In  short,  if  I  was  as  fit  for  the  next  world  as  I 
am  unfit  for  this,  —  and  God  forbid  I  should  speak  it  in 
vanity,  —  I  would  not  change  conditions  with  any  saint  in 
Christendom."  His  religious  life  was  frequently  clouded 
by  doubt  and  despair.  Worst  of  all,  his  mind  on  several 
occasions  gave  way.  But  in  spite  of  misfortune  and  suffer- 
ing, he  became  the  best  letter  writer  of  England,  and 
wrote  at  least  one  work  that  will  perish  only  with  the 
English  language  itself. 

William  Cowper  was  born  Nov.  26,  1731,  in  Hert- 
fordshire. His  parentage  on  both  sides  was  of  ancient 
lineage ;  but  for  this  he  seems  to  have  cared  but  little :  — 

"My  boast  is  not  that  I  deduce  my  birth 
From  loins  enthroned,  and  rulers  of  the  earth  ; 
But  higher  far  my  proud  pretensions  rise, — 
The  son  of  parents  passed  into  the  skies." 

His  father  was  chaplain  to  George  H.     His  mother,  a 

woman  of  excellent  mind  and  heart,  died  when  he  was  six 

years  old.     All  through  his  life  of  sadness,  he  cherished 

an  affectionate  remembrance  of  her  tenderness ;  and  fifty 

years    after    her   death,  on  receiving  her  picture  from  a 

relative,  he  wrote  a  poem  that  has  become  famous  for  its 

pathetic  beauty :  — 

,  "  The  record  fair 

That  memory  keeps  of  all  thy  kindness  there. 

Still  outlives  many  a  storm,  that  has  effaced 

A  thousand  other  themes  less  deeply  traced." 

At  the  age  of  six  years  this  timid  and  sensitive  child 
was  placed  in  a  large  boarding-school,  where  he  was  tyran- 


334  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

nized  over  by  the  larger  boys.  One  in  particular  selected 
him  as  the  special  object  of  his  cruelty.  "  His  savage 
treatment  of  me,"  Cowper  wrote  years  afterward,  "im- 
pressed such  a  dread  of  his  figure  upon  my  mind  that  I 
well  remember  being  afraid  to  lift  my  eyes  upon  him 
higher  than  to  his  knees,  and  that  I  knew  him  better  by 
his  shoe-buckles  than  by  any  other  part  of  his  dress." 
The  recollection  of  the  cruelties  he  suffered  inspired  his 
poem  "  Tirocinium,  or  a  Review  of  Schools,"  in  which  he 
points  out  the  evils  of  those  institutions  and  makes  a 
strong  plea  for  home  instruction. 

At  the  age  of  ten  he  entered  Westminster  School.  He 
made  excellent  attainments  in  Latin  and  Greek,  the  prin- 
cipal subjects  of  study  at  that  time.  In  spite  of  frequent 
fits  of  despondency,  he  excelled  in  cricket  and  foot-ball. 
Among  his  school-fellows  afterward  to  become  famous 
was  Warren  Hastings,  in  whose  guilt  he  steadily  refused 
in  after  years  to  believe.  His  poetical  turn  manifested 
itself  in  his  school  days,  and  "Verses,"  written  on  finding 
the  heel  of  a  shoe,  showed  his  moralizing  disposition,  and 
contained  a  promise  of  "  The  Task  "  :  — 

"  This  pond'rous  heel  of  perforated  hide 
Compact,  with  pegs  indented,  many  a  row, 
Haply,  —  for  such  its  massy  form  bespeaks, — 
The  weighty  tread  of  some  rude  peasant  clown 
Upbore  :  on  this  supported,  oft  he  stretched 
With  uncouth  strides  along  the  furrowed  glebe, 
Flattening  the  stubborn  clod,  till  cruel  time 
(What  will  not  cruel  time  ?)  or  a  wry  step. 
Severed  the  strict  cohesion." 

At  eighteen,  conforming  to  the  wish  of  his  father, 
Cowper  began  the  study  of  law  with  an  attorney  in  London. 


WILLIAM   COWPER.  335 

Both  in  taste  and  talent  he  was  unfitted  for  the  legal  pro- 
fession. He  read  more  in  literature  than  in  law.  In  the 
same  office  was  another  young  man  named  Thurlow,  who 
afterward  became  lord  chancellor.  Cowper  foresaw  the 
success  of  his  companion,  and  one  evening,  in  the  presence 
of  some  ladies,  he  playfully  said :  "  Thurlow,  I  am  nobody, 
and  shall  always  be  nobody,  and  you  will  be  chancellor. 
You  shall  provide  for  me  when  you  are."  Thurlow  re- 
plied, with  a  smile,  "  I  surely  will."  "These  ladies," 
continued  Cowper,  "are  our  witnesses."  "Let  them  be 
so,"  answered  the  future  chancellor,  "for  I  will  certainly 
do  it."  Cowper's  foresight  for  his  friend  was  better  than 
for  himself ;  he  certainly  became  somebody.  As  to  the 
aid  so  generously  promised,  it  never  extended  beyond  some 
advice  in  the  translation  of  Homer. 

In  1752  Cowper  took  up  his  residence  in  the  Middle 
Temple,  but  never  gave  himself  seriously  to  law.  He  read 
Greek  and  translated  French.  He  became  a  member  of  a 
literary  circle,  called  the  Nonsense  Club,  and  occasionally 
wrote  a  bit  of  verse  or  prose.  He  contributed  to  the  Con- 
noisseur a  few  papers  in  the  style  of  Addison.  But  he 
suffered  from  morbid  depression.  The  shadow  of  the 
dreadful  affliction  that  darkened  his  later  years  stole  upon 
him.  "  Day  and  night,"  he  wrote  in  his  painful  memoir, 
"  I  was  upon  the  rack,  lying  down  in  horror  and  rising  up 
in  despair."  He  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in  1754,  but 
beyond  the  duties  of  a  commissioner  of  bankrupts,  he 
never  followed  his  profession. 

While  a  student  of  law  he  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the 
house  of  his  uncle,  Ashley  Cowper.  He  fell  in  love  with 
his  cousin  Theodora,  and,  as  might  be  expected,  addressed 


336  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

to  her  a  considerable  number  of  poems.  They  are  gen- 
erally of  a  tame,  mediocre  quality  ;  but  in  the  lines  "  Upon 
a  Venerable  Rival"  there  is  a  touch  of  jealous,  spiteful 

vigor :  — 

"  For  once  attempt  not  to  despise 
What  I  esteem  a  rule : 
Who  early  loves,  though  young,  is  wise, — 
Who  old,  though  gray,  a  fool." 

His  devotion  met  with  an  ardent  return,  but  encoun- 
tered parental  opposition.  Cowper's  poverty,  as  well  as 
his  kinship  and  despondency,  was  regarded  by  Theodora's 
father  as  a  barrier  to  their  union.  "  What  will  you  do  if 
you  marry  your  cousin .? "  inquired  the  prudent  father. 
"  Do,  sir } "  replied  the  heroic  girl,  "  wash  all  day  and 
ride  out  on  the  great  dog  at  night."  But  when,  in  spite  of 
prayers  and  tears,  her  father  remained  inexorable,  she  re- 
solved to  obey  him.  She  gave  up  her  lover,  whom  she 
never  saw  afterward.  But  with  beautiful  constancy  she 
remained  true  to  him  at  heart,  watched  over  his  Hfe  with 
tender  solicitude,  and  in  various  emergencies  helped  him 
with  anonymous  gifts.  She  fondly  treasured  the  poems 
addressed  to  her,  and  they  were  published  only  after  her 
death  in  1824. 

At  the  age  of  thirty-one  Cowper  found  his  resources 
pretty  well  exhausted  and  was  anxious  to  secure  employ- 
ment. An  influential  relative  nominated  him  for  the  office 
of  clerk  of  journals  in  the  House  of  Lords.  To  establish 
his  fitness  it  became  necessary  for  him  to  stand  an  exami- 
nation at  the  bar  of  the  House.  For  some  months  he 
tried  to  make  preparation ;  but  his  timid,  sensitive  nature 
recoiled  more  and  more  from  the  ordeal.     "  They  whose 


WILLIAM   COWPER.  337 

spirits  are  formed  like  mine,"  he  wrote,  "  to  whom  a  pub- 
lic exhibition  of  themselves  is  mental  poison,  may  have 
some  idea  of  the  horrors  of  my  situation  —  others  can 
have  none."  Finally,  losing  his  mental  balance  entirely, 
he  attempted  suicide  and  was  sav-ed  from  death  only  by 
the  breaking  of  the  garter,  with  which  he  had  hanged  him- 
self. His  nomination  was  of  course  withdrawn,  and  he 
was  placed  in  a  private  asylum.  After  eighteen  months, 
in  which  he  went  through  a  deep  but  morbid  religious 
experience,  he  regained  his  health. 

With  the  year  1765  begins  a  new  era  in  Cowper's  life. 
In  order  to  be  near  his  brother,  a  fellow  of  St.  Benet's 
College,  Cambridge,  he  removed  to  Huntingdon.  The 
town  and  surrounding  country  were  very  agreeable  to  him. 
For  his  support  a  few  relatives  raised  a  fund,  which  he 
received  with  humble  gratitude.  Here  he  began  the 
extensive  correspondence,  which,  apart  from  his  poetry, 
would  have  given  him  an  honored  place  in  English  lit- 
erature. Ease,  grace,  humor,  are  inimitably  blended  in 
his  letters.  He  sympathized  with  the  religious  movement 
led  by  Wesley  and  Whitefield.  He  adopted  what  is  now 
generally  considered  a  rigorous  type  of  piety,  the  earnest 
spirit  of  which  subsequently  entered  into  his  poetry.  At- 
tracted by  religious  sympathy  and  social  culture,  he  became 
a  boarder  in  the  Unwin  family,  with  which  the  rest  of  his 
life  was  to  be  intimately  associated.  Mrs.  Unwin  proved 
especially  congenial,  of  whom  he  wrote  to  his  cousin, 
"  That  woman  is  a  blessing  to  me,  and  I  never  see  her 
without  being  the  better  for  her  company." 

To  most  persons  the  family  life  of  the  Unwins  will  not 
appear  attractive  or  cheerful.     "  We  breakfast  commonly 


338  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

between  eight  and  nine,"  wrote  Cowper  with  his  usual 
fondness  for  details.;  "till  eleven,  we  read  either  the  Scrip- 
ture or  the  sermons  of  some  faithful  preacher  of  those 
holy  mysteries ;  at  eleven  we  attend  divine  service,  which 
is  performed  here  twice  every  day ;  and  from  twelve  to 
three  we  separate  and  amuse  ourselves  as  we  please. 
During  the  interval  I  either  read  in  my  own  apartment, 
or  walk,  or  ride,  or  work  in  the  garden.  We  seldom  sit 
an  hour  after  dinner,  but,  if  the  weather  permits,  adjourn 
to  the  garden,  where,  with  Mrs.  Unwin  and  her  son,  I 
have  generally  the  pleasure  of  religious  conversation  till 
tea-time.  ...  At  night  we  read  and  converse  as  before, 
till  supper,  and  commonly  finish  the  evening  either  with 
hymns  or  a  sermon,  and,  last  of  all,  the  family  are  called 
to  prayers." 

This  quiet  life  was  not  to  continue  undisturbed.  At  the 
end  of  two  years  Mr.  Unwin  was  thrown  from  his  horse 
and  killed.  Cowper  continued  an  inmate  of  the  Unwin 
home.  The  friendship  existing  between  him  and  Mrs. 
Unwin  gradually  ripened  into  an  attachment,  which  was 
to  end  only  with  life  itself.  At  one  time  they  contem- 
plated marriage ;  but  this  was  prevented  by  a  return  of 
Cowper's  malady.  In  1767,  on  the  invitation  of  the  Rev. 
John  Newton,  they  moved  to  Olney  in  Buckinghamshire. 
The  village,  situated  on  the  Ouse,  was  low,  damp,  and  un- 
healthy ;  but  the  partial  eye  of  the  poet,  as  we  shall  see 
later,  discovered  beauty  in  the  landscape. 

The  people  were  poor,  illiterate  lace-makers.  Cowper 
cordially  assisted  in  the  religious  work  of  the  devoted  pas- 
tor :  he  visited  the  poor,  distributed  alms,  and  led  in 
prayer-meetings.     For  a  hymn-book  which   Newton  was 


WILLIAM  COW  PER.  339 

preparing,  he  composed  the  celebrated  Olney  hymns,  sixty- 
eight  in  number.  Like  most  hymns,  they  are  generally 
deficient  in  high  poetic  quality ;  but  several  of  them  — 

-'■  Oh  !  for  a  closer  walk  with  God," 
"There  is  a  fountain  filled  with  blood," 
"  What  various  hindrances  we  meet," 
"God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way"  — 

are  found  in  all  standard  collections. 

Cowper's  mode  of  life  at  Olney  did  not  prove  favorable 
to  his  health,  and  in  1773  his  insanity  returned.  It  took 
the  form  of  religious  despair.  Through  a  long  illness  he 
was  attended  by  Mrs.  Unwin  with  affectionate,  self-sacri- 
ficing care.  Newton  likewise  was  very  patient  and  kind. 
As  Cowper  began  to  pass  out  of  the  shadow,  he  gave  him- 
self to  light  employment  in  carpentry  and  gardening.  He 
surrounded  himself  with  rabbits,  cats,  and  other  pets,  on 
which  he  lavished  kindly  care.  In  "The  Task"  he  com- 
memorates a  favorite  pet  :  — 

"  One  sheltered  hare 
Has  never  heard  the  sanguinary  yell 
Of  cruel  man,  exulting  in  her  woes. 
Innocent  partner  of  my  peaceful  home, 
Whom  ten  long  years'  experience  of  my  care 
Has  made  at  last  familiar,  she  has  lost 
Much  of  lier  vigilant  instinctive  dread, 
Not  needful  here,  beneath  a  roof  like  mine." 

With  returning  health,  his  strong  sense  of  humor  re- 
vived. It  found  expression  in  the  poem  "  Report  of  an 
Adjudged  Case,"  which  is  intended  as  a  gentle  satire  on 
that  class  of  legal  judgments  which,  by  adhering  to  the 


340  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

letter  of  the  law,  perverts  justice..    Every  one  knows  the 
poem  :  — 

"  Between  Nose  and  Eyes  a  strange  contest  arose, 
The  spectacles  set  them  unhappily  wrong; 
The  point  in  dispute  was,  as  all  the  world  knows, 
To  which  the  said  spectacles  ought  to  belong." 

Cowper  was  not  a  man  of  initiative  energy.  Left  to 
himself,  his  Hfe  would  have  passed  in  meditative  repose. 
All  his  longer  poems  were  suggested  to  him  by  friends. 
In  1779  he  was  introduced  to  the  Rev.  William  Bull,  a 
dissenting  minister  living  some  five  miles  from  Olney, 
whom  he  learned  to  esteem  both  for  his  learning  and  his 
piety.  It  was  through,  him  that  he  was  induced  to  trans- 
late the  quietistic  poems  of  Madame  Guyon.  Though 
deeply  spiritual  in  tone,  these  poems  inculcate  a  morbid 
type  of  piety.  Cowper  was  not  unconscious  of  their  faults, 
and  in  his  translation  he  corrected  their  irreverent  famil- 
iarity toward  God. 

The  year  1781  marks  the  beginning  of-Cowper's  literary 
fame.  He  was  now  fifty  years  old  ;  and  apart  from  the 
natural  effects  of  age,  his  painful  experience  tended  to  en- 
rich his  thought  and  subdue  his  style.  His  taste  had  been 
formed  not  only  on  the  Latin  and  Greek  classics,  but  also 
on  the  best  English  poets,  of  whom  he  expresses  many 
able  judgments  in  his  letters.  He  greatly  admired 
Milton ;  and  after  reading  Dr.  Johnson's  unfair  sketch  in 
the  "  Lives  of  the  Poets,"  he  indignantly  exclaimed  :  "  Oh, 
I  could  thrash  his  old'  jacket  till  I  made  his  pension  jingle 
in  his  pocket !  " 

He  felt  the  need  of  congenial  employment ;  and  at  the 
suggestion  of    Mrs.    Unwin,   who    proposed   the    subject, 


WILLIAM   COW  PER. 


341 


"The  Progress  of  Error,"  he  began  his  moral  satires. 
He  worked  with  enthusiasm,  and  in  the  course  of  a  few 
months  finished  "The  Progress  of  Error,"  "Truth," 
"Table  Talk,"  "Expostulation,"  "Hope,"  "Charity," 
"Conversation,"  and  "Retirement."  The  volume  ap- 
peared in  1782.  Its  reception  by  the  public  was  hardly 
equal  to  its  merits.  The  poet  received  unfavorable  criti- 
cism with  admirable  composure  and  humor.  "  We  may 
now  treat  the  critics,"  he  wrote,  "  as  the  archbishop  of 
Toledo  treated  Gil  Bias,  when  he  found  fault  with  one  of 
his  sermons.  His  grace  gave  him  a  kick  and  said,  '  Be- 
gone for  a  jackanapes  and  furnish  yourself  with  a  better 
taste,  if  you  know  where  to  find  it.'  " 

The  moral  satires  cover  a  wide  range  of  subject  and  well 
portray  the  manners  of  the  time.  Occasionally  they  are 
enlivened  by  characteristic  humor.  "  I  am  merry,"  the 
poet  said,  "that  I  may  decoy  people  into  ray  company  ;  and 
grave,  that  they  may  be  better  for  it."  The  following  lines 
give  us  the  ideal  to  which  he  endeavored  to  conform  his 
verse :  — 

"  Give  me  the  line  that  flow.s  its  stately  course 
Like  a  proud  swan,  conquering  the  stream  by  force ; 
That  like  some  cottage  beauty,  strikes  the  heart, 
Quite  unindebted  to  the  tricks  of  art." 

In  what  is  said  of  the  poet  we  discern  the  freedom  of  a 
new  era :  — 

"  A  poet  does  not  work  by  square  or  line, 
As  smiths  and  joiners  perfect  a  design ; 
At  least  we  moderns,  our  attention  less, 
Beyond  the  example  of  our  sires  digress, 
And  claim  a  right  to  scamper  and  run  wide, 
Wherever  chance,  caprice,  or  fancy  guide." 


342  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

The  following  directions  for  story-telling  are  as  applica 
ble  to  written  as  to  oral  discourse  :  — 

»  "A  tale  should  be  judicious,  clear,  succinct ; 

The  language  plain,  and  incidents  well  linked. 
Tell  not  as  new  what  everybody  knows, 
And,  new  or  old,  still  hasten  to  a  close  ; 
There  centring  in  a  focus,  round  and  neat, 
Let  all  your  rays  of  information  meet." 

At  this  period  Cowper  was  blessed  with  another  friend- 
ship that  told  favorably  on  himself  and  English  literature. 
Lady  Austen,  the  widow  of  a  baronet,  was  a  witty,  viva- 
cious, sensible  woman,  who  after  an  accidental  acquain- 
tance became  deeply  interested  in  the  poet.  Though  she 
had  been  accustomed  to  the  best  drawing-rooms  of  London 
and  Paris,  she  took  up  her  residence  in  the  quiet  village  of 
Olney  and  lived  in  close  intimacy  with  the  Unwin  house- 
hold. To  her  we  are  indebted  for  two  of  Cowper's  best- 
known  poems.  Observing  his  depression  one  day,  she 
related  to  him  the  story  of  the  luckless  John  Gilpin.  It 
had  the  desired  effect.  •  That  night  he  lay  awake  laughing 
over  the  story  and  next  morning  turned  it  into  the  famous 
ballad  of  "John  Gilpin."  It  was  published  anonymously 
in  a  newspaper,  recited  by  an  actor,  and  taken  up  by  the 
public  ;  and  since  that  time  it  has  retained  its  place  in 
popular  favor  as  one  of  the  most  humorous  ballads  in  our 
language. 

Lady  Austen  was  fond  of  blank  verse,  and  urged  Cow- 
per to  write  a  poem  of  that  kind.  When  he  asked  for  a 
subject,  she  assigned  him  "  The  Sofa."  The  poet  set  to 
work,   and   in    rapid    succession    completed  "  The    Sofa," 


WILLIAM   COW  PER.  343 

"  The  Timepiece,"  "  The  Garden,"  "  The  Winter  Even- 
ing," "The  Winter  Morning  Walk,"  and  "The  Winter 
Walk  at  Noon,"  which  taken  together  constitute  "The 
Task,"  his  greatest  work.  In  this  poem  Cowper's  genius 
finds  its  fullest  expression.  It  was  published  in  1785  and 
at  once  obtained  flattering  recognition.  Poetry  at  this 
time  was  at  a  low  ebb  in  England.  "  The  Task  "  easily 
gave  Cowper  a  foremost  place  among  the  poets  of  his 
time.  In  style  and  theme  it  exhibits  a  complete  rupture 
with  the  artificial  school  of  the  Augustan  Age.  It  reveals 
a  sympathy  with  the  ordinary  scenes  and  incidents  of 
Hfe,  and  its  descriptions  are  based  on  close  observation. 
As  in  the  satires,  there  is  a  prevailing  moral  tone.  Its 
general  tendency,  to  use  the  poet's  own  words,  is  "  to  dis- 
countenance the  modern  enthusiasm  after  a  London  life 
and  to  recommend  rural  ease  as  friendly  to  the  cause  of 
piety  and  virtue." 

Here  is  his  description  of  the  Olney  neighborhood,  as 
he  viewed  it  from  an  eminence  in  company  with  Mrs. 
Unwin  :  — 

"  Thence  with  what  pleasure  have  we  just  discerned 
The  distant  plough  slow  moving,  and  beside 
His  laboring  team  that  swerved  not  from  the  track, 
The  sturdy  swain  diminished  to  a  boy  ! 
Here  Ouse,  slow  winding  tlirough  a  level  plain 
Of  spacious  meads,  with  cattle  sprinkled  o'er, 
Conducts  the  eye  along  his  sinuous  course 
Delighted.     There,  fast  rooted  in  their  bank, 
Stand,  never  overlooked,  our  favorite  elms, 
That  screen  the  herdsman's  .solitary  hut ; 
While  far  beyond,  and  ovcrthwart  the  stream, 
That,  as  with  molten  glass,  inlays  the  vale, 


344  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

The  sloping  land  recedes  into  the  clouds ; 

Displaying  on' its  varied  side  the  grace 

Of  hedge-row  beauties  numberless,  square  tower, 

Tall  spire,  from  which  the  sound  of  cheerful  bells 

Just  undulates  upon  the  listening  ear, 

Groves,  heaths,  and  smoking  villages,  remote." 

The  poet  had  not  only    an  eye   for    rural   sights,  but 

also  an  ear  for  rural  sounds.      Note   the  following  fine 

passage :  — 

"Mighty  winds 

That  sweep  the  skirt  of  some  far-spreading  wood 

Of  ancient  growth,  make  music  not  unlike 

The  dash  of  Ocean  on  his  winding  shore, 

And  lull  the  spirit  while  they  fill  the  mind ; 

Unnumbered  branches  waving  in  the  blast. 

And  all  their  leaves  fast  fluttering,  all  at  once. 

Nor  less  composure  waits  upon  the  roar 

Of  distant  floods,  or  on  the  softer  voice 

Of  neighboring  fountain,  or  of  rills  that  slip 

Through  the  cleft  rock,  and  chiming  as  they  fall 

Upon  loose  pebbles,  lose  themselves  at  length 

In  matted  grass  that  with  a  livelier  green 

Betrays  the  secret  of  their  silent  course." 

As  illustrating  Cowper's  attentive  observation  and 
graphic  description,  the  following  extract  from  the  "Win- 
ter Morning  Walk"  will  be  of  interest:  — 

"  Forth  goes  the  woodman,  leaving  unconcerned 
The  cheerful  haunts  of  man,  to  wield  the  axe 
And  drive  the  wedge  in  yonder  forest  drear, 
From  morn  to  eve  his  solitary  task. 
Shaggy,  and  lean,  and  shrewd,  with  pointed  ears 
And  tail  cropped  short,  half  lurcher  and  half  cur, 
His  dog  attends  him.     Close  behind  his  heel 


WILLIAM  COW  PER.  345 

Now  creeps  he  slow  ;  and  now,  with  many  a  frisk 
Wide-scampering,  snatches  up  the  drifted  snow 
With  ivory  teeth,  or  ploughs  it  with  his  snout ; 
Then  shakes  his  powdered  coat,  and  barks  for  joy. 
Heedless  of  all  his  pranks,  the  sturdy  churl 
Moves  right  toward  the  mark  ;  nor  stops  for  aught, 
But  now  and  then  with  pressure  of  his  thumb 
To  adjust  the  fragrant  charge  of  a  short  tube. 
That  fumes  beneath  his  nose  :  the  trailing  cloud 
Streams  far  behind  him,  scenting  all  the  air." 

One  more  extract  from  this  admirable  poem  must  suf- 
fice.    It  reveals  the  poet's  broad  and  kindly  sympathies  :  — 

"  I  would  not  enter  on  my  list  of  friends 
(Though  graced  with  polished  manners  and  fine  sense, 
Yet  wanting  sensibility)  the  man 
Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm.'" 

Before  "  The  Task  "  was  finished,  the  friendly  relations 
existing  between  the  poet  and  Lady  Austen  were  severed. 
The  cause  of  the  rupture  has  not  been  made  clear.  It  has 
been  suggested  that  the  mutual  jealousy  of  the  two  ladies 
had  something  to  do  with  it.  However  that  may  be,  Lady 
Austen  dropped  out  of  the  poet's  life  — 

"  Like  the  lost  Pleiad,  seen  no  more  below." 

But  her  place  was  soon   supplied  by   Lady  Hesketh,   a 

cousin  of  the  poet's,  who  had  been  drawn  to  him  by  his 

growing   fame.       Scarcely   inferior   to    Lady  Austen    in 

accomplishments,  she  proved  a  more   lasting  friend.     In 

1786  she  provided  for  Cowper  a  better  home  at  Weston, 
an  elevated  spot  a  short  distance  from  Olney. 

At  various  times  the  poet  amused   himself   with  brief 


346  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

versions  from  the  ancient  classics.  His  renderings  of 
Ovid,  Virgil,  and  particularly  Horace  are  characterized 
by  grace  and  fidelity.  But  his  most  important  work  was  a 
translation  of  Homer's  "Iliad"  and  "Odyssey,"  on  which 
he  worked  diligently  for  five  years.  He  found  fault  with 
Pope  for  departing  so  widely  from  the  simpHcity  and 
naturalness  of  the  original.  His  own  version  in  large 
measure  avoids  these  mistakes,  but  somehow,  when  it 
appeared  in  1791,  it  failed  to  give  satisfaction.  Perhaps 
the  failure  lay  in  the  nature  of  the  task  itself,  for  no  trans- 
lation can  ever  fully  reproduce  the  simplicity,  melody,  and 
graphic  power  of  the  original.  Though  Cowper  was  most 
unworldly  in  money  matters,  he  no  doubt  found  some  com- 
pensation for  his  failure  in  the  thousand  pounds  paid  him 
by  his  publisher. 

Among  his  shorter'  poems,  besides  those  previously 
noticed,  there  are  several  that  deserve  special  attention. 
The  poem  on  "  Friendship  "  is  a  veritable  storehouse  of 
wisdom  and  wit :  — 

"  Who  seeks  a  friend  should  come  disposed 
To  exhibit  in  full  bloom  disclosed 

The  graces  and  the  beauties 
That  form  the  character  he  seeks ; 
For  His  a  union  that  bespeaks 

Reciprocated  duties. 

"  The  man  that  hails  you  Tom  or  Jack, 
And  proves  by  thumps  upon  your  back 

How  he  esteems  your  merit, 
Is  such  a  friend,  that  one  had  need 
Be  very  much  his  friend  indeed 

To  pardon  or  to  bear  it." 


WILLIAM   COW  PER.  347 

His  "  Verses "  supposed  to  be  written  by  Alexander 
Selkirk  is  a  poem  known  to  every  one.  "  Mutual  For- 
bearance "  contains  four  often-quoted  lines  :  — 

''The  kindest  and  the  happiest  pair 
Will  find  occasion  to  forbear, 
And  something  every  day  they  live 
To  pity  and  perhaps  forgive." 

"The  Needless  Alarm  "  beautifully  teaches  the  moral;  — 

"  Beware  of  desperate  steps.     The  darkest  day 
Live  till  to-morrow  shall  have  passed  away." 

"The  Poplar  Field,"  "The  Shrubbery,"  and  "To  Mary" 
are  excellent,  while  "The  Castaway"  is  remarkable  both  for 
its  vigor  and  for  the  fact  that  it  was  Cowper's  last  original 
poem. 

The  evening  of  his  life  was  deeply  overcast.  Mrs. 
Unwin,  so  long  his  support,  was  stricken  with  paralysis. 
By  his  tender  and  unfailing  attention  he  nobly  repaid  his 
great  debt  to  her.  But  the  strain  proved  too  much  for  his 
strength,  and  his  melancholy  returned.  In  1794  the  king 
granted  him  a  pension  of  three  hundred  pounds,  but  he 
was  not  in  a  condition  to  understand  his  good  fortune. 
Loyal  friends  gathered  about  him  in  his  helplessness.  A 
change  of  scene  was  tried,  but  in  vain.  In  1796  Mrs. 
Unwin  passed  away.  When  taken  to  see  her  lifeless 
body,  he  uttered  one  passionate  cry  of  pain  and  never 
spoke  of  her  more.  He  survived  her  nearly  four  years, 
with  now  and  then  a  brief  return  of  his  literary  power. 
He  died  peacefully  April  25,  1800. 

The  key-note  of   his  character  was  sincerity.     He  did 


348  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

not  assume  to  be  more  than  he  actually  was.  His  sincerity- 
explains  not  only  the  singular  charm  of  his  society,  but 
also  the  prevailing  character  of  his  poetry.  Refusing  to 
stoop  to  artificialities,  he  wrote  what  he  truly  observed, 
felt,  and  thought.  "  My  descriptions,"  he  said,  "  are  all 
from  nature ;  not  one  of  them  second-hand.  My  delinea- 
tions of  the  heart  are  from  my  own  experience ;  not  one 
of  them  borrowed  from  books  or  in  the  least  degree  con- 
jectural." 


fineraved  by  VVmiotn  Walker  and  SaiiiiieL  Cimsiiis,  from  the  painting  by  Alexander  Naxmyth 
*  done  in  1787. 


fx^oltAJ-  fyAm'UJ 


ROBERT  BURNS.  349 

/  7  J"/  - 


ROBERT   BURNS. 

The  greatest  poet  of  Scotland  and  the  best  song  writer 
of  the  world  —  such  is  but  a  moderate  estimate  of  Burns. 
Scarcely  any  one  will  be  found  to  claim  less,  and  some  to 
claim  more.  A  careful  study  of  his  writings,  in  connec- 
tion with  the  unfavorable  circumstances  of  his  life,  im- 
presses us  with  his  extraordinary  genius.  He  was  the 
greatest  poetic  genius  produced  by  Great  Britain  in  the 
eighteenth  century.  A  peculiar  interest  attaches  to  him. 
His  great  natural  gifts  were  hampered  by  poverty  and 
manual  toil,  and  enslaved  by  evil  habits,  so  that  he  ac- 
complished only  a  small  part  of  what  was  possible  for  him. 
That  his  genius  was  chained  by  untoward  circumstances 
awakens  our  profound  pity  and  regret ;  and  that  he 
weakly  yielded  to  intemperance  and  immorality  arouses 
our  censure  and  indignation. 

His  life  was  a  tragedy  —  a  proud  and  powerful  mind 
overcome  at  length  in  the  hard  struggle  of  life.  The 
catastrophe  was  unspeakably  sad ;  yet  —  let  not  our 
admiration  of  his  gifts  bHnd  our  judgment — Burns  him- 
self, and  not  an  unkind  destiny,  was  chiefly  to  blame. 
Genius  has  no  exemption  from  the  ordinary  rules  of 
morality.  If  he  had  abstained  from  drunken  carousals 
and  illicit  amours,  his  life  might  have  been  crowned  with 
beauty  and  honor.  No  doubt,  as  is  often  charitably  said, 
he  had  strong  passions  and  severe  temptations  ;  but  these 
he  ought  to  have  resisted ;  for,  as  Carlyle  says,  "  Nature 


350  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

fashions  no  creature  without  implanting  in  it  the  strength 
needful  for  its  action  and  duration  ;  least  of  all  does  she 
so  neglect  her  masterpiece  and  darling,  the  poetic  soul." 

Robert  Burns  was  born  in  a  clay-built  cottage  two  miles 
from  the  town  of  Ayr  in  1759.  His  father  was  a  man  of 
strict  integrity  and  deep  piety.  We  have  an  imperishable 
portrait  of  him  in  "The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night."  His 
early  years  were  spent  on  a  small  unfruitful  farm  in 
poverty  and  toil.  His  strength  was  overtaxed,  his  shoulders 
became  stooped,  and  his  nervous  system  was  weakened. 
He  afterward  spoke  of  this  period  as  combining  "  the 
cheerless  gloom  of  a  hermit  with  the  unceasing  moil  of  a 
galley  slave." 

Yet  this  hardship  was  not  without  some  relief.  His 
humble  home  was  sweetened  with  kindness  and  love ;  and 
the  future  poet  was  taught,  first  in  school  and  afterward 
by  his  father,  the  elements  of  learning.  His  mind  was 
enlarged,  and  his  taste  refined  by  works  of  the  highest 
merit.  His  early  reading  included  the  Spectator,  Shake- 
speare, Pope,    and  Locke's    "  Human    Understanding." 

In  his  fifteenth  year  his  genius  was  awakened  under 
the  sweet  spell  of  love.  "  You  know,"  he  says,  "  our 
country  custom  of  coupling  a  man  and  woman  together 
as  partners  in  the  labors  of  harvest.  In  my  fifteenth 
summer  my  partner  was  a  bewitching  creature,  a  year 
younger  than  myself.  My  scarcity  of  English  denies  me 
the  power  of  doing  her  justice  in  that  language ;  but  you 
know  the  Scottish  idiom.  She  was  a  bonnie,  sweet,  sonsie 
lass.  In  short,  she,  altogether  unwittingly  to  herself, 
initiated  me  into  that  delicious  passion  which,  in  spite  of 
acid  disappointment,    gin-horse  prudence,  and  bookworm 


ROBERT  BURNS.  351 

philosophy,  I  hold  to  be  the  first  of  human  joys  here 
below."  The  first  offspring  of  his  muse  was  entitled 
"  Handsome  Nell,"  which,  though  he  afterward  spoke  of 
it  as  puerile,  still  contains  a  touch  of  that  charming 
simplicity  of  thought  and  expression  which  characterizes 
so  much  of  his  poetry.     Is  not  this  stanza  delightful  ?  — 

"  She  dresses  aye  sae  clean  and  neat, 
Baith  decent  and  genteel, 
And  then  there's  something  in  her  gait 
Gars  ^  ony  dress  look  weel." 

At  the  age  of  nineteen  he  went  to  Kirkoswald  to  study 
mensuration  and  surveying.  It  turned  out  to  be  a  bad 
move.  The  town  was  frequented  by  smugglers  and 
adventurers ;  and  Burns  was  introduced  into  scenes  of 
what  he  calls  "  swaggering  riot  and  roaring  dissipation." 
He  worked  at  his  mensuration  with  sufficient  diligence 
till  he  one  day  met  a  pretty  lass  and  fell  in  love.  The 
current  of  his  thought  was  turned  from  mathematics  to 
poetry,  and  this  change  put  an  end  to  his  studies.  Love- 
making  now  became  a  common  business  with  him.  He 
composed  a  song  on  every  pretty  girl  he  knew.  The  most 
beautiful  of  the  songs  of  this  period  is  his  "  Mary  Mori- 
son,"  which  was  inspired  by  a  real  affection  :  — 

"  Yestreen,  when  to  the  trembling  string, 

The  dance  gaed  thro'  the  lighted  ha'. 
To  thee  my  fancy  took  its  wing, 

I  sat,  but  neither  lieard  nor  saw  : 
Tho'  this  was  fair,  and  that  was  braw. 

And  yon  the  toast  of  a'  the  town, 
I  sigh'd  and  said  amang  them  a', 

Ye  are  na  Mary  Morison. 

1  Makes. 


352  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

"  Oh,  Mary,  canst  thou  wreck  his  peace, 

Wha  for  thy  sake  wad  gladly  die ; 
Or  canst  thou  break  that  heart  of  his, 

Whase  only  faut  is  loving  thee? 
If  love  for  love  thou  wilt  na  gie, 

At  least  be  pity  to  me  shown ; 
A  thought  ungentle  canna  be 

The  thought  o'  Mary  Morison." 

In  spite  of  his  sweet  love  songs  his  suit  was  rejected  — 

an  incident  that  long  cast  a  shadow  over  his  inner  life. 

He  was  a  great  reader.     He  possessed  a  "  Collection  of 

EngUsh  Songs  "  ;  and- this,  he  says,  "  was  my  vade-mecum. 

I  pored  over  them  driving  my  cart,  or  Avalking  to  labor, 

song  by  song,  verse  by  verse  ;  carefully  noticing  the  true, 

tender,  or  sublime,  from  affectation  or  fustian ;  and  I  am 

convinced  I  owe  to  this  practice  much  of  my  critic  craft, 

such  as  it  is."     A  consciousness  of  his  strength  began  to 

dawn  upon  him  and  to  fill  his  mind  with  a  great  ambition. 

Amidst  his  varied  labors  on  the  farm,  as  a  beardless  boy, 

he  felt  — 

"E'en  then  a  wish,  1  mind  its  power, 

A  wish  that  to  my  latest  hour 

Shall  strongly  heave  my  breast : 
That  I  for  poor  auld  Scotland's  sake. 
Some  useful  plan  or  book  could  make, 

Or  sing  a  sang  at  least." 

In  the  summer  of  1781  he  went  to  Irvine  to  learn  the 
flax-dressing  business  in  the  hope  of  increasing  thereby 
the  profits  of  farming.  It  turned  out  to  be  a  disastrous 
undertaking.  As  at  Kirkoswald,  he  fell  into  the  company 
of  smugglers  and  adventurers,  by  whom  he  was  encour- 
aged in  loose  opinions  and  bad  habits.     With  the  unset- 


ROBERT  BURNS.  353 

tling  of  his  religious  convictions,  he  overleaped  the  restraints 
that  had  hitherto  kept  him  in  the  path  of  virtue. 

His  flax-dressing  came  to  an  abrupt  close.  He  was 
robbed  by  his  partner,  and  his  shop  took  fire  at  a  New 
Year's  carousal  and  was  burnt  to  the  ground.  Dispirited 
and  tormented  with  an  evil  conscience,  he  returned  to  his 
home,  which  was  soon  to  be  overshadowed  by  the  death 
of  his  father.  "Whoever  lives  to  see  it,"  the  old  man  had 
said,  "  something  extraordinary  will  come  from  that  boy." 
But  he  went  to  the  grave  sorely  troubled  with  apprehensions 
about  the  future  of  his  gifted  son. 

Burns  now  made  an  effort  to  reform.  In  his  own  words, 
_"  I  read  farming  books,  I  calculated  crops,  I  attended  mar- 
kets, and,  in  short,  in  spite  of  the  devil,  the  world,  and  the 
flesh,  I  should  have  been  a  wise  man ;  but  the  first  year, 
from  unfortunately  buying  bad  seed,  the  second,  from  a 
late  harvest,  we  lost  half  our  crops.  This  overset  all  my 
wisdom  ;  and  I  returned  like  the  dog  to  his  vomit,  and  the 
sow  that  was  washed  to  her  wallowing  in  the  mire."  He 
came  under  ecclesiastical  discipline  for  immorality  and  re- 
venged himself  by  lashing  the  minister  and  church  officers 
with  keen  and  merciless  satire.  His  series  of  rehgious 
satires,  in  spite  of  all  their  inimitable  brilliancy  of  wit,  re- 
flect little  credit  either  on  his  judgment  or  his  character. 
While  his  harvests  were  failing,  and  his  business  interests 
were  all  going  against  him,  he  found  solace  in  rhyme.  As 
he  says :  — 

"  Leeze  me  *  on  rhyme  !  it's  aye  a  treasure, 
My  chief,  amaist  my  only  pleasure, 
At  hame,  a-fiel',  at  wark,  at  leisure, 

1  I  am  happy  in  rhyme. 
2  A 


354  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

The  Muse,  poor  hizzie  ! 
Tho'  rough  and  raplock  ^  be  her  measure, 
She's  seldom  lazy." 

The  year  1785,  while  he  was  laboring  with  his  brother 
on  a  farm  at  Mossgiel,  saw  the  greatest  activity  of  his 
muse.  It  was  at  that  time  that  he  composed  "  To  a 
Mouse,"  "The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,"  "Address  to  the 
Deil,"  "Man  Was  Made  to  Mourn,"  and  "The  Mountain 
Daisy,"  which  established  his  fame  on  a  lasting  founda- 
tion. They  were  composed  behind  the  plough  and  after- 
ward written  in  a  little  farmhouse  garret.  "Thither," 
says  Chambers,  "  when  he  had  returned  from  his  day's 
work,  the  poet  used  to  retire  and  seat  himself  at  a  small, 
deal  table,  lighted  by  a  narrow  skylight  in  the  roof,  to 
transcribe  the  verses  which  he  had  composed  in  the  fields. 
His  favorite  time  for  composition  was  at  the  plough." 

His  immoral  conduct  again  brought  him  into  serious 
trouble.  The  indignant  father  of  Jean  Armour  put  the 
officers  of  the  law  upon  his  track.  By  a  subsequent  mar- 
riage with  Jean,  he  did  something  in  the  way  of  repairing 
the  wrong.  While  lurking  in  concealment,  he  resolved  to 
emigrate  to  Jamaica ;  and  to  secure  the  necessary  means 
for  the  voyage,  he  published  a  volume  of  his  poems  in  1786. 

The  result  altered  all  his  plans.  The  volume  took  Scot- 
land by  storm.  "  Old  and  young,"  says  a  contemporary, 
"  high  and  low,  grave  and  gay,  learned  and  ignorant,  were 
alike  delighted,  agitated,  transported.  I  was  at  that  time 
resident  in  Galloway,  contiguous  to  Ayrshire,  and  I  can 
well  remember  how  even  plough-boys  and  maid-servants 
would  have  gladly  bestowed  the  wages  they  earned  most 

^  Coarse. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  355 

hardly,    and  which    they   wanted    to    purchase    necessary 
clothing,  if  they  might  procure  the  works  of  Burns." 

As  a  financial  venture,  the  volume  brought  him  only 
twenty  pounds ;  but  what  was  of  more  importance,  it  re- 
tained him  in  his  native  country  and  introduced  him  to 
the  noble  and  the  learned  of  Edinburgh.  He  has  left  a 
humorous  account  of  the  first  time  he  met  a  nobleman 
socially,  and  "dinner'd  wi'  a  Lord"  :  — 

"  But  wi'  a  Lord  !  stand  out  my  shin, 
A  Lord  —  a  Peer,  an  EarPs  son  ! 

Up  higher  yet  my  bonnet  ! 
And  sic  a  Lord  !  lang  Scotch  ells  twa, 
Our  Peerage  he  o'erlooks  them  a\ 

As  I  look  o'er  a  sonnet." 

Professor  Dugald  Stewart  has  given  an  interesting 
account  of  Burns's  bearing  on  the  same  occasion  :  "His 
manners  were  then,  as  they  continued  ever  afterward, 
simple,  manly,  and  independent ;  strongly  expressive  of 
conscious  genius  and  worth,  but  without  anything  that 
indicated  forwardness,  arrogance,  or  vanity.  He  took  his 
share  in  conversation,  but  not  more  than  belonged  to  him ; 
and  listened  with  apparent  attention  and  deference  on 
subjects  where  his  want  of  education  deprived  him  of  the 
means  of  information." 

In  November,  1786,  Burns  deemed  it  wise  to  visit  the 
Scottish  metropolis.  His  journey  thither  on  horseback 
was  a  continued  ovation.  He  occupied  very  humble 
quarters,  lodging  in  a  small  room  costing  three  shillings 
a  week.  From  this  lowly  abode  he  went  forth  into  the 
best  society  of  Edinburgh,  to  which  his  genius  gained  him 
ready  admission.     He  was  the  social  lion  of  the  day. 


356  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

The  Scottish  capital  was  noted  at  this  time  for  the  liter- 
ary talent  gathered  there.  In  the  most  polished  drawing- 
rooms  of  the  city  Burns  met  Dugald  Stewart,  William 
Robertson,  Adam  Smith,  Hugh  Blair,  and  others  of 
scarcely  less  celebrity.  He  did  not  suffer  from  this 
contact  with  the  ablest  men  of  his  country.  Indeed,  it 
has  been  said  by  one  who  knew  him  well  that  poetry  was 
not  his  forte.  His  brilliant  conversation  —  his  vigorous 
thought,  sparkling  wit,  and  trenchant  style  —  sometimes 
eclipsed  his  poetry. 

His  manner  was  open  and  manly,  a  consciousness  of 
native  strength  preserving  him  from  all  servility.  He 
showed,  as  Lockhart  says,  "  in  the  strain  of  his  bearing  ■ 
his  belief  that  in  the  society  of  the  most  eminent  men 
of  his  nation  he  was  where  he  was  entitled  to  be,  hardly 
deigning  to  flatter  them  by  exhibiting  a  symptom  of  being 
flattered."  He  was  especially  pleasing  to  ladies,  "fairly 
carrying  them  off  their  feet,"  as  one  of  them  said,  "by 
his  deference  of  manner  and  the  mingled  humor  and 
pathos  of  his  talk." 

He  cherished  a  proud  feeling  of  independence.  He 
emphasized  individual  worth  and  looked  with  contempt 
on  what  may  be  regarded  as  the  mere  accidents  of  birth 
or  fortune.  To  this  feeling,  which  finds  a  response  in 
every  noble  breast,  he  gave  expression  in  his  song,  "  A 
Man's  a  Man  for  a'  That,"  which  mightily  voiced  the 
democratic  spirit  of  the  age  :  — 

"  Is  there,  for  honest  poverty, 

That  hangs  his  head,  and  a'  that  ? 
The  coward  slave,  we  pass  him  by; 
We  dare  be  puir  for  a'  that. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  357 

"  For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

Our  toils  obscure  and  a'  that. 
The  rank  is  but  the  guinea-stamp  — 
The  man's  the  gowd  ^  for  a'  that." 

He  chafed  under  the  inequalities  of  fortune  he  discov- 
ered in  society  and  sometimes  showed  an  inconsiderate 
bitterness  of  feeling.  "  There  are  few  of  the  sore  evils 
under  the  sun  give  me  more  uneasiness  and  chagrin,"  he 
writes  in  his  diary,  "  than  the  comparison  how  a  man 
of  genius,  nay,  of  avowed  worth,  is  received  everywhere, 
with  the  reception  which  a  mere  ordinary  character,  deco- 
rated with  the  trappings  and  futile  distinctions  of  fortune 
meets."  "  He  had  not  yet  learned  —  he  never  did  learn  " 
—  says  Principal  Shairp,  "that  lesson,  that  the  genius  he 
had  received  was  his  allotted  and  sufficient  portion, 'and 
that  his  wisdom  lay  in  making  the  most  of  this  rare  in- 
ward gift,  even  on  a  meagre  allowance  of  this  world's 
external  goods." 

Unfortunately  for  Burns  he  did  not  confine  himself  to 
the  cultivated  circles  of  Edinburgh.  He  frequented  the 
social  clubs  that  gathered  nightly  in  the  taverns.  Here 
he  threw  off  all  restraint,  and  mirth  frequently  became 
fast  and  furious.  Deep  drinking,  rough  raillery,  and 
coarse  songs  made  up  the  sum  of  these  revellings,  which 
served  at  once  to  deprave  the  poet's  character  and  to  ruin 
his  reputation. 

In  1787  the  ostensible  purpose  for  which  Burns  had 
come  to  Edinburgh  was  accomplished,  and  a  second  vol- 
ume of  his  poems  was  issued  by  the  leading  publisher  of 
the  city.     He   then    made   two    brief   tours    through    the 

1  Gold. 


358  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

border  districts  and  the  highlands  of  Scotland  for  the  pur- 
pose of  visiting  points  celebrated  for  beautiful  scenery 
or  consecrated  by  heroic  deeds.  He  returned  for  a  few- 
months  to  Edinburgh ;  but  the  coarse  revelries  of  his 
previous  visit  had  undermined  his  influence,  and  he  met 
with  only  a  cold  reception. 

Before  leaving  the  city  he  received  an  appointment  in 
the  Excise.  He  had  hoped  for  something  better.  But 
he  wrote  to  a  friend :  "  The  question  is  not  at  what  door 
of  fortune's  palace  we  shall  enter  in,  but  what  doors  does 
she  open  for  us."  He  also  leased  a  farm  at  Ellisland, 
which  he  had  long  set  his  heart  on. 

Returning  to  Ayrshire,  he  married  Jean  Armour,  whom 
an  angered  father  had  thrust  from  his  door.  The  poet, 
who  was  not  a  hardened  reprobate,  wrote :  "  I  have 
married  my  Jean.  I  had  a  long  and  much-loved  fellow- 
creature's  happiness  or  misery  in  my  determination,  and 
I  durst  not  trifle  with  so  important  a  deposit,  nor  have 
I  any  cause  to  repent  it.  If  I  have  not  got  polite  tittle- 
tattle,  modish  manners,  and  fashionable  dress,  I  am  not 
sickened  and  disquieted  with  the  multiform  curse  of  board- 
ing-school affectation  ;  and  I  have  got  the  handsomest  fig- 
ure, the  sweetest  temper,  the  soundest  constitution,  and 
the  kindest  heart  in  the  country."  The  truth  of  this  char- 
acterization is  established  by  the  patience  with  which  Jean 
bore  the  irregularities  of  her  husband's  life. 

His  farm  at  Ellisland  proved  a  failure.  His  duties  as 
exciseman,  besides  leading  him  into  bad  company,  pre- 
vented that  strict  supervision  of  farm  work  which  was 
necessary  to  success.  He  suffered  much  from  depression 
of  spirits,  to  which  the  recollections  of  a  wayward  life  con- 


ROBERT  BURNS.  359 

tributed  no  small  part.  "Alas!"  he  writes,  "who  would 
wish  for  many  years  ?  What  is  it  but  to  drag  existence 
until  our  joys  gradually  expire,  and  leave  us  in  a  night  of 
misery,  like  the  gloom  which  blots  out  the  stars,  one  by 
one  from  the  face  of  heaven,  and  leaves  us  without  a  ray 
of  comfort  in  the  howling  waste  ?  " 

He  continued  to  find  at  intervals  solace  in  poetry.  One 
morning  he  heard  the  report  of  a  gun  and  shortly  after 
saw  a  poor  wounded  hare  Hmping  by.  The  condition  of 
the  httle  animal  touched  his  heart  and  called  forth  the 
excellent  poem  "  On  Seeing  a  Wounded  Hare  Limp  by 
Me,"  written  in  classic  English  :  — 

"  Go  live,  poor  wanderer  of  the  wood  and  field, 
The  bitter  little  that  of  life  remains  : 
No  more  the  thickening  brakes  and  verdant  plains 
To  thee  shall  home,  or  food,  or  pastime  yield." 

We  meet  with  this  tender  sympathy  with  nature,  and 
strong  sense  of  fellowship  with  lower  creatures,  in  many 
of  his  poems.  It  is  one  secret  of  their  charm.  In  the 
poem  "To  a  Mouse  "  is  the  following  :  — 

"  Tm  truly  sorry  man's  dominion 
Has  broken  Nature's  social  union, 
An'  justifies  that  ill  opinion 

Which  makes  thee  startle 
At  me,  thy  poor  earth-born  companion 

An'  fellow-mortal ! " 

The  cold  blasts  of  a  winter  night  remind  him  of  — 

"  Ilk  happing  bird,  wee  helpless  thing. 
That  in  the  merry  months  o'  spring 
Delighted  me  to  hear  thee  sing, 


360  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

What  comes  o'  thee  ? 
Where  wilt  thou  cower  thy  chittering  wing, 
And  close  thy  e'e  ?  " 

The  choicest  products  of  this  sojourn  at  Ellisland  are 
the  immortal  "Tale  o'  Tam  o'  Shanter "  and  "To  Mary 
in  Heaven."  The  latter  is  a  song  of  deep  pathos.  Years 
before  he  had  loved  his  "  Highland  Mary  "  with  a  deep 
devotion.  Their  parting  by  the  banks  of  Ayr  —  which 
the  untimely  death  of  Mary  made  the  last  —  was  attended 
with  vows  of  eternal  constancy.  Her  memory  never  van- 
ished from  the  poet's  mind.  On  the  anniversary  of  her 
death,  in  October,  1786,  he  grew  sad  and  wandered  about 
his  farmyard  the  whole  night  in  deep  agitation  of  mind. 
As  dawn  approached  he  was  persuaded  by  his  wife  to 
enter  the  house,  when  he  sat  down  and  wrote  those 
pathetic  lines,  beginning  :  — 

"  Thou  lingering  star  with  lessening  ray, 

That  lov'st  to  greet  the  early  morn, 
Again  thou  usherest  in  the  day 

My  Mary  from  my  soul  was  torn. 
O  Mary,  dear  departed  shade  ! 

"Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest  .'' 
See'st  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hear'st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his  breast  ?  " 

In    1 791    Burns  removed    to    Dumfries    and    gave    his 

whole   time   to   the    duties    of   the   Excise,  for  which    he 

received   seventy  pounds    a  year.     At    Ellisland    he    had 

written :  — 

"  To  make  a  happy  fireside  clime, 

For  weans  and  wife, 

Is  the  true  pathos  and  sublime 

Of  human  life." 


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ROBERT  BURNS.  36 1 

Unfortunately  he  did  not  live  as  wisely  as  he  sang.  His 
spirit  became  soured  toward  those  more  favored  by  fortune. 
His  nights  were  frequently  spent  at  the  tavern,  with  drink- 
ing cronies.  His  life  is  summed  up  in  one  of  his  letters : 
"  Hurry  of  business,  grinding  the  faces  of  the  publican 
and  the  sinner  on  the  merciless  wheels  of  the  Excise, 
making  ballads,  and  then  drinking  and  singing  them ; 
and,  over  and  above  all,  correcting  the  press  of  two 
different  publications." 

In  1792  his  aid  was  solicited  in  the  preparation  of 
"  Melodies  of  Scotland."  He  entered  into  the  undertak- 
ing with  enthusiasm.  When  the  editor,  George  Thomp- 
son of  Edinburgh,  once  sent  him  some  money  in  return 
for  a  number  of  songs,  the  poet  wrote  :  "  I  assure  you, 
my  dear  sir,  that  you  truly  hurt  me  with  your  pecuniary 
parcel.  It  degrades  me  in  my  own  eyes.  However,  to 
return  it  would  savor  of  affectation ;  but,  as  to  any  more 
traffic  of  that  debtor  and  creditor  kind,  I  swear  by  that 
honor  which  crowns  the  upright  stature  of  Robert  Burns's 
integrity,  on  the  least  motion  of  it,  I  will  indignantly  spurn 
the  by-pact  transaction  and  from  that  moment  commence 
entire  stranger  with  you."  In  view  of  the  financial  straits 
into  which  he  shortly  afterward  came,  this  must  be  re- 
garded as  an  unwise  sacrifice  of   prudence  to  sentiment. 

Burns  strongly  sympathized  with  the  revolutionary  move- 
ment in  France ;  and  to  this  feeling  no  less  than  to  his 
Scottish  patriotism,  if  we  may  believe  his  own  account, 
we  owe  the  thrilling  lines  of  "  Bruce's  Address,"  which 
Carlyle  says  "  should  be  sung  with  the  throat  of  the  whirl- 
wind." The  excellence  of  this  poem  has  been  questioned 
by  Wordsworth  and  others ;  but  let  the  following  lines  be 


362  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

read  with  something  of  the  heroic  fervor  with  which  they 
were  composed,  and  all  doubts  will  be  set  at  rest :  — 

"  Wha  will  be  a  traitor  knave  ? 
Wha  can  fill  a  coward's  grave  ? 
Wha  so  base  as  be  a  slave  ? 
Let  him  turn  and  flee." 

The  end  was  drawing  near.  The  irregularities  of  his 
life  had  undermined  his  strong  constitution.  He  was 
often  serious.  "^I  find  that  a  man  may  live  like  a  fool," 
he  said  to  his  friend,  "but  he  will  scarcely  die  like  one." 
In  April,  1796,  he  wrote:  "Alas,  my  dear  Thompson,  I 
fear  it  will  be  some  time  before  I  tune  my  lyre  again  ! 
By  Babel  streams  I  have  sat  and  wept,  almost  ever  since 
I  wrote  you  last ;  I  have  known  existence  only  by  the 
pressure  of  the  heavy  hand  of  sickness  and  have  counted 
time  by  the  repercussions  of  pain  !  Rheumatism,  cold, 
and  fever  have  formed  to  me  a  terrible  combination.  I 
close  my  eyes  in  misery  and  open  them  without  hope. 
I  look  on  the  vernal  day,  and  say,  with  poor  Ferguson,  — 

"  '  Say  wherefore  has  an  all-indulgent  heaven 
Light  to  the  comfortless  and  wretched  given  ? ' " 

His  last  days  were  illumined  now  and  then  by  flashes  of 
poetic  fire.  For  Jessie  Lewars,  a  young  girl  that  had  seen 
the  poet's  need,  and  from  sympathy  had  come  into  his 
home  to  assist  in  domestic  duties,  he  wrote  the  following 
beautiful  lines :  — 

"Oh!  wert  thou  in  the  cauld,  cauld  blast, 
On  yonder  lea,  on  yonder  lea, 
My  plaidie  to  the  angry  airt,^ 
rd  shelter  thee,  Fd  shelter  thee. 

^  Point  of  the  compass. 


ROBERT  BURNS.  363 

Or  did  misfortune's  bitter  storms 
Around  thee  blaw,  around  thee  blaw, 

Thy  bield  ^  should  my  bosom  be, 
To  share  it  a',  to  share  it  a'. 

•  Or  were  I  in  the  wildest  waste, 

Sae  black  and  bare,  sae  black  and  bare. 
The  desert  were  a  paradise. 

If  thou  wert  there,  if  thou  wert  there  : 
Or  were  !  monarch  o'  the  globe, 

Wi'  thee  to  reign,  wi'  thee  to  reign, 
The  brightest  jewel  in  my  crown 

Wad  be  my  queen,  wad  be  my  queen." 

The  2 1st  of  July,  1796,  with  his  children  around  his  bed, 

the  great  poet  of  Scotland  passed  away.      Let  our  final 

judgment  of   him  as   a  man  be  tempered  by  the   gentle 

spirit    he    commends    in     the    "  Address    to    the    Unco 

Guid":  — 

"  Then  gently  scan  your  brother  man. 

Still  gentler  sister  woman  ; 
Tho"  they  may  gang  a  kennin  ^  wrang, 

To  step  aside  is  human  : 
One  point  must  still  be  greatly  dark. 

The  moving  why  they  do  it ; 
And  just  as  lamely  can  ye  mark, 

How  far  perhaps  they  rue  it. 

"Who  made  the  heart,  'tis  He  alone 

Decidedly  can  try  us  ; 
He  knows  each  chord  —  its  various  tone, 

Each  spring —  its  various  bias  ; 
Then  at  the  balance  let's  be  mute, 

We  never  can  adjust  it ; 
What's  done  we  partly  may  compute, 

But  know  not  what's  resisted." 

1  Shelter.  2  jrifle. 


364  ENGLISH  LITERATURE, 

As  a  poet  Burns's  life  was  incomplete.  His  struggle 
with  poverty  and  his  bad  habits  left  him  only  fragments 
of  his  power  to  be  devoted  to  literature.  He  was  not 
guided  by  the  controlling  influence  of  a  great  purpose. 
His  efforts  were  spasmodic  —  the  result  of  accidental  cir- 
cumstances. His  genius  has  not  the  range  of  Shake- 
speare's ;  but  within  its  limit  it  is  unsurpassed.  He  was 
the  greatest  peasant  poet  that  ever  lived.  Unlike  Words- 
worth, in  whom  the  reflective  element  is  largely  developed, 
Burns  is  a  painter  of  nature.  He  has  glorified  the  land- 
scape of  his  native  land.  Beyond  all  other  poets  he  has 
caught  the  beauty,  the  humor,  the  pathos,  of  everyday 
life.  He  was  thoroughly  honest  in  his  best  writings. 
There  is  no  attitudinizing  in  his  poems,  no  pretence  to 
unreal  sentiment.     He  was  a  poet  — 

"Whose  songs  gushed  from  his  heart, 
As  drops  from  the  clouds  of  summer, 
Or  tears  from  the  eyeUds  start." 

He  felt  deeply,  and  then  poured  forth  his  song  because  ' 

he  could  not  otherwise  find  peace.     He  could  not  endure 

affectation,  rant,  hypocrisy.     At  heart  devout  before  the 

great  Author  and  Preserver  of  all  things,  he  yet  rebelled 

against  some  of  the  hard  features  religion  had  assumed. 

In  his  "Epistle  to  a  Young  Friend,"  his  real  feelings  are 

indicated  :  —      _, 

"  The  great  Creator  to  revere, 

Must  sure  become  the  creature  ; 
But  still  the  preaching  cant  forbear, 

And  ev'n  the  rigid  feature  : 
Yet  ne'er  with  wits  profane  to  range, 

Be  complaisance  extended ; 
An  Atheist's  laugh's  a  poor  exchange 

For  Deity  offended. 


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ROBERT  BURNS.  365 

"When  ranting  round  in  pleasure's  ring, 

Religion  may  be  blinded  ; 
Or,  if  she  gie  a  random  sting, 

It  may  be  little  minded  ; 
But  when  on  life  we're  tempest-driven, 

A  conscience  but  a  canker  — 
A  correspondence  fixed  wi'  Heaven, 

Is  sure  a  noble  anchor." 

More  than  any  other  man  he  saw  the  beauty  of  a  sincere 
rehgious  Hfe,  to  a  portrayal  of  which  he  devoted  the  best 
of  his  poems.  His  sensibiHties  were  extraordinarily  sensi- 
tive and  strong.  "There  is  scarcely  any  earthly  object," 
he  says,  "  gives  me  more  —  I  do  not  know  if  I  should  call 
it  pleasure  —  but  something  which  exalts  me,  something 
which  enraptures  me  —  than  to  walk  in  the  sheltered  side 
of  a  wood  or  high  plantation  in  a  cloudy  winter  day  and 
hear  the  stormy  wind  howling  among  the  trees  and  raving 
over  the  plain.  ...  I  listened  to  the  birds  and  frequently 
turned  out  of  my  path,  lest  I  should  disturb  their  little  songs 
or  frighten  them  to  another  station."  With  such  a  sensi- 
tive nature  it  is  no  wonder  that  we  find  contradictions  in 
his  poetry.  The  storm  of  emotion  drives  quickly  from 
grave  to  gay,  from  high  to  low.  He  has  written  much 
that  ought  to  be  and  will  be  forgotten.  But  upon  the 
whole,  his  poetry  is  elevating  in  its  tone  —  a  treasure  for 
which  we  ought  to  be  thankful.  It  is  the  voice  of  a  man 
who,  with  all  his  weakness  and  sin,  was  still,  in  his  best 
moments,  honest,  manly,  penetrating,  and  powerful. 


AGE   OF    SCOTT. 


PRINCIPAL   WRITERS. 

Criticism.  —  Francis  Jefifrey  (i 773-1 850).  Lawyer  and  critic, 
editor  of  tlie  Ediiibiirgh  Review  (1802-1829),  and  brilliant  writer  on 
literature,  politics,  and  ethics. 

t/William  Hazlitt  (1778-1830).  Critic  and  author  of  "Character  of 
Shakespeare's  Plays"  (1817),  "A  View  of  the  English  Stage"  (1818), 
"  Lectures  on  the  English  Poets"  (1818),  "Lectures  on  the  English 
Comic  Writers"  (1819),  ''Literature  of  the  Elizabethan  Age"  (1821), 
"Table-Talk"  (1824),  "The  Spirit  of  the  Age"  (1825). 
.  Charley  Lamb  ( 1 775-1 834).  Critic  and  essayist.  Author  of  "  Rosa- 
mond Gray"  (1798),  "Tales  from  Shakespeare"  (1805),  and  "Essays 
of  Elia"  (1 822-1 824). 

John  Wilson  (i  785-1 854).  Critic  and  essayist,  whose  twin  de 
plume  was  "  Christopher  North."  Author  of  "  Noctes  Ambrosianae," 
etc. 

John  Gibson  Lockhart  (1794-1854).  Critic,  novelist,  biographer; 
author  of  "Adam  Blair"  (1822),  "Life  of  Burns"  (1825),  "Life  of 
Scott>(i837),  etc. 

Leigh  Hunt  (1784-1859).     Author  of  "Juvenilia"  (1802),  "Classic 


Tales"  (1807),  "The  Story  of  Rimini"  (1816),  etc. 

f^ORY.  —  Henry  Haljam  (i  778-1 859).     Author  of  "Views  of  the 
of  Europe  during   th'e  Middle   Ages"    (1818),   "Constitutional 


Im^^ 


State  of  Europe  during  the  Middle  Ages"  (1818),  "Constitutional 
History  of  England"  (1827),  and  "Introduction  to  the  Literature  of 
Europe  in  the  Fifteenth,  Sixteenth,  and  Seventeenth  Centuries"  (1838). 
William  Mitford  (1744-1827).  Author  of  a  "  History  of  Greece  " 
(1784-1818),  "History  and  Doctrine  of  Christianity  "  (1823),  etc. 

Female  Novelists   and   Poets.  — ^n  Radcliffe   (i  764-1 823). 
Novelist  of  Romantic  School,  and  author  of  "  Tlie  Romance  of  the 

367 


^6S  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

ForesV'  (1791)^"  The  Mysteries  of  Udolpho"  (i794)>  and  several 
others. 

vj^  Maria  Edgeworth  (i 767-1 849).  Novelist  of  Irish  life  ;  author  of 
«  Castle  l^ackrent  "  ( 1 80 1 ) ,  '•  M  oral  Tales  "  ( 1 80 1 ),  "  Tales  of  a  Fashion- 
able Life"  (181 1 ),  etc. 

Jane  Austen  (1775-1817).  Novelist  of  social  life  ;  author  of  "  Sense 
and  Sensibility"  (181 1),  "Pride  and  Prejudice"  (1812),  "Emma" 
(1816),  etc. 

Jane  Porter  (1776-1850).  Novelist  of  the  Romantic  type;  author 
of  "Tliaddeus  of  Warsaw  "  (1803),  "The  Scottish  Chiefs"  (1810),  etc. 

Anna  Letitia  Barbauld  (1743-1825).  Poet  and  prose  writer;  author 
of  "Lessons  for  Children"  (1808),  etc. 

Felicia  Dorothea  Hemans  (1794-1835).  Poet  and  author  of  "The 
Vespers  of  Palermo"  (1823),  a  tragedy,  "The  Forest  Sanctuary" 
(1827),  "Songs  of  the  Affections  "  (1830),  etc.  Several  of  her  shorter 
poems  —  "  The  Landing  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,"  "  The  Homes  of  Eng- 
land," "  The  Hour  of  Death  "  —  will  always  remain  popular. 

Hannah  More  (i  745-1 833).  Poet,  novelist,  dramatist,  and  moral 
essayist;  author  of  "Percy,"  a  drama  written  for  Garrick,  which  was 
acted  with  success  in  1777,  "Sacred  Dramas"  (1782,)  "  Coelebs  in 
Search  of  a  Wife"  (1809),  "Character  of  St.  Paul"  (1815),  "Moral 
Sketches"  (1818),  etc. 

Joanna  Baillie  (1762- 1851).  Poet  and  dramatist;  author  of  "Plays 
of  the  Passions"  (181 2),  etc. 

./TOETRY.  — Thomas  Campbell  (i 777-1 844).  Author  of  "The 
Pleasures  of  Hope"'  (1799)?  "  Poems  "  (1803),  "  Gertrude  of  Wyoming  " 
(1809). 

John  Keats  (1795-1821).    Author  of  "Poems  "  (1817),  "Endymion" 

"(iSiSj,  "  Hyperion"  (1820). 

.-Robert  Southey(  1 774-1 843).  Poet  and  historian  ;  author  of  "  Joan 
of  Arc"  (1796),  "Thalaba,  the  Destroyer"  (1801),  "The  Curse  of 
Kehama"  (1810),  "A  History  of  Brazil,"  "Life  of  Nelson,"  and  a  hun- 
dred other  volumes. 

IxThomas  Moore  (1779-1852).  Poet  and  biographer;  author  of 
"Epistles"  (1806),  "Lalla  Rookh"  (18 17),  "Life  of  Byron"  (1830), 
"  Irish  Klelodies  "  (1834).  etc. 

\/Thomas  Hood  (1798-1845).  Poet,  editor,  humorist;  author  of 
"Whims  and  Oddities"  (1826),  "Up  the  Rhine"  (1839),  a  delightful 
piece  of  humor,  and  editor  of  Hood's  Magazine,  and  other  periodicals. 


AGE    OF  SCOTT. 


369 


V' Walter  Savage  Landqr  (1775-1864).  Poet  and  prose  writer;  au- 
thoT^f  ''Gebif^  (1798),  "  Count  Julian"  (1812),  •'  Imaginary  Conver- 
sations "  (1824-1846),  etc. 

John  Keble  (1792-1866).  Poet,  clergyman,  and  Oxford  professor; 
author  of  ''  The  Christian  Year"  (1827),  a  series  of  poems  for  the  Sun- 
days and  holidays  of  the  church  year. 

Samuel  Rogers  (1763-1855).  Author  of  the  "Pleasures  of  Memory" 
(1792),  ''Columbus"  (1812),  "Human  Life,"  etc.  As  a  man  of 
wealth  he  entertained  many  literary  celebrities,  his  breakfasts  being 
more  famous  than  his  poems. 


GREAT    REPRESENTATIVE    WRITERS. 


Sir  Walter  Scott. 

Lord  Byron. 

William  Wordsworth. 


Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 
Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 
Thomas  De  Quincey. 


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VII. 

AGE   OF   SCOTT. 

(1800-1832.) 

Favorable  political  condition  —  Triumphs  of  democracy  —  Periods  not 
sharply  defined  —  Effect  of  French  Revolution  —  Growing  Intelli- 
gence —  Periodicals  —  Critics :  Jeff"rey,  Hazlitt,  Lamb,  Wilson, 
Lockhart  —  History  :  Hallam,  Mitford  —  Prominence  of  women  : 
Ann  Radcliffe,  Maria  Edgeworth,  Jane  Austen  —  Poetry — Thomas 
Campbell  —  John  Keats  —  Robert  Southey  —  Thomas  Moore  — 
Sir  Walter  Scott  —  Lord  Byron  —  William  Wordsworth 
—  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  —  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley  — 
Thomas  De  Quincey. 

The  political  condition  of  England  during  this  period 
was  not  unfavorable  to  literature.  In  1800  the  "  Emerald 
Isle"  was  joined  to  England  under  the  title  of  the  United 
Kingdom  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland.  The  Napoleonic 
wars  increased  England's  prestige  as  a  world-power.  She 
came  into  possession  of  the  colonies  of  Spain,  of  Holland, 
and  of  France.  Waterloo  finally  ended  her  long  struggle 
with  the  French.  Her  victories  at  Copenhagen  and 
Trafalgar  made  her  the  undisputed  mistress  of  the  seas. 
The  population  largely  increased.  Agriculture  became 
more  flourishing,  and  the  inventions  of  Watt  and  Ark- 
wright  helped  to  build  up  prosperous  cities  in  northern 
England  and  to  increase  the  national  wealth.  In  181 5 
London  was  lighted  with  gas ;  and  a  few  years  later  an 
effective  police  force  was  organized   for  the  city,  which 

371 


372  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

had  then  reached  a  population  of  a  million  and  a  half. 
Though  the  transition  from  hand  labor  to  machinery  im- 
posed great  hardships  on  the  working  classes  for  a  time, 
and  thus  created  much  social  discontent  and  suffering,  it 
laid  the  foundation  of  the  subsequent  supremacy  of  Eng- 
land as  a  manufacturing  and  commercial  nation. 

Though  the  influence  of  the  government  was  generally 
against  the  democratic  tendencies  of  the  times,  the  new 
sense  of  human  right  and  freedom  could  not  be  extin- 
guished. Though  held  in  check  for  a  time,  it  achieved 
later  notable  triumphs  in  Parliament.  In  1828  the  Test 
Act,  by  which  Dissenters  and  Roman  Catholics  were  ex- 
cluded from  government  office,  was  repealed,  and  the  fol- 
lowing year  Roman  Catholics  were  admitted  to  Parliament. 
In  1832  the  famous  Reform  Bill  was  passed,  by  which  the 
"  rotten  boroughs  "  were  abolished,  the  list  of  voters  was 
increased  by  half  a  million,  and  the  manufacturing  cities 
of  northern  England  —  Birmingham,  Manchester,  and 
many  others — were  accorded  representation. 

It  will  be  understood  that  the  periods  into  which  the 
history  of  any  literature  is  divided  are  not  sharply  defined. 
They  pass  gradually  from  one  into  another  under  the  op- 
eration of  new  influences.  The  age  of  Scott,  a  designa- 
tion less  descriptive  than  convenient,  is  characterized  by 
the  full  development  of  the  democratic  and  romantic 
tendencies  originating  in  the  latter  part  of  the  preceding 
period.  They  reached  their  climax  in  the  literary  outburst 
that  has  been  called,  not  without  considerable  justification, 
the  "  Second  Creative  Period."  A  copious  literature,  new 
both  in  form  and  spirit,  bloomed  forth.  Scott,  Words- 
worth, Coleridge,  Byron,  Shelley,  De  Quincey,  and  others 


AGE    OF  SCOTT.  373 

were  men  of  original  and  creative  genius  ;  and  in  a  retro- 
spect of  the  long  vista  of  English  literature,  they  stand 
out  with  striking  prominence.  With  an  inadequate  ap- 
prehension of  the  tendencies  of  the  age,  three  of  these 
writers  —  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  and  Southey  —  have, 
been  designated  the  Lake  School  of  Poets,  from  their 
residence  in  the  northern  part  of  England. 

The  chief  event  that  immediately  affected  Hterature, 
in  the  closing  decade  of  the  eighteenth  and  the  first  third 
of  the  nineteenth  century,  was  the  French  Revolution. 
It  not  only  crystallized  the  floating  thought  and  feeling 
of  France,  but  it  brought  home  to  the  English  heart  the 
vague  democratic  movement  of  the  time.  The  rights 
of  man,  as  distinguished  from  the  privileges  of  class  or 
caste,  became  the  subject  of  earnest  and  enthusiastic 
examination.  The  literary  men  of  England  generally 
arrayed  themselves,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  on  the 
side  of  progress  or  of  conservatism.  Dreams  of  a  golden 
age  of  right  and  happiness  took  hold  of  men  like  Words- 
worth, Coleridge,  and  Southey  ;  and  for  a  time,  as  we 
shall  see,  they  contemplated  founding  an  ideal  democ- 
racy, or  Pantisocracy,  beyond  the  sea.  On  the  other 
hand,  Scott,  in  whom  the  romantic  movement  reached 
its  climax,  turned  away  from  the  turmoil  of  dissension 
and  conflict  to  write,  in  prose  and  poetry,  of  a  chival- 
rous past.  Byron  satirized  the  social  conditions  about 
him ;  and  Shelley,  with  a  spirit  still  more  radical  and 
violent,  sought  to  overturn  the  most  sacred  beliefs  and 
institutions. 

This  period  was  one  of  rapidly  growing  intelligence. 
Through    the   labors  of    Andrew   Bell    and    Joseph    Lan- 


374  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

caster,  a  new  impulse  was  given  to  popular  education, 
and  hundreds  of  schools  were  founded.  In  1818  the 
government  manifested  its  interest  in  education  by  ap- 
pointing a  committee  to  inspect  the  public  schools. 
'Periodicals  were  multiplied ;  and  very  significant  for 
literature  was  the  founding  of  the  great  magazines  and 
reviews,  which  became  the  vehicles,  not  only  of  vigor- 
ous criticism,  but  also  of  excellent  miscellaneous  pro- 
ductions. They  gathered  about  them  groups  of  gifted 
writers  and  elevated  the  taste  of  the  reading  public. 
The  EdinburgJi  Review  was  founded  in  1802,  the  Lon- 
don Quart eidy,  its  political  opponent,  in  1809,  Black- 
wood's Magazine  in  18 17,  the  Westminster  Review  in 
1824,  and  Frasers  Magazine  in  1830.  Two  weekly 
papers  of  high  order,  the  Spectator  and  the  AthejicBum, 
both  of  which  figure  in  later  literature,  were  established 
in   1828. 

One  of  the  best-known  critics  of  the  time  was  Francis 
Jeffrey.  He  was  at  the  head  of  the  Edinburgh  Review 
for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  and  wielded  his 
critical  pen  with  imperious  spirit.  Though  Whiggish 
in  politics,  he  was  conservative  in  literature  and  had 
little  patience  with  the  literary  innovations  of  the  pe- 
riod. He  treated  Byron  with  contempt,  belittled  Scott, 
and  pursued  Wordsworth  with  relentless  severity.  But 
the  results  of  this  unsympathetic  and  often  ferocious 
criticism  were  not  without  benefit.  Apart  from  the  re- 
plies it  provoked,  it  forced  an  examination  of  funda- 
mental principles,  and  grounded  the  new  literature  on 
a  surer  foundation. 

William  Hazlitt  justly  ranks  as  one  of  the  foremost  of 


AGE    OF  SCOTT.  375 

English  critics.  Charles  Lamb's  quaint  "  Essays  of  Elia  " 
give  him  enduring  fame.  His  "Dissertation  upon  Roast 
Pig  "  is  a  noted  piece  of  humorous  writing.  John  Wilson, 
for  many  years  the  leading  spirit  of  Blackwood,  has  earned 
a  place  in  Enghsh  literature  under  the  pseudonym  of 
"  Christopher  North."  John  Lockhart,  at  first  a  contribu- 
tor to  Blackzvood,  and  afterward  editor  of  the  Quarterly 
Reviezv,  was  conservative  in  his  tastes  and  made  severe 
attacks  both  upon  Keats  and  Tennyson  in  his  earher 
poems.  His  "  Life  of  Scott,"  his  father-in-law,  is  one  of 
the  best  biographies  in  any  language.  Leigh  Hunt's  works 
were  originally  contributions  to  periodical  literature. 

There  are  two  historians  that  deserve  mention,  though 
neither  attained  the  heights  of  the  great  triumvirate  of  the 
preceding  period.  Henry  Hallam  was  both  a  historian  and 
literary  critic,  distinguished  for  his  extensive  research  and 
judicial  fairness.  His  "  View  of  the  State  of  Europe  dur- 
ing the  Middle  Ages,"  which  was  published  in  1818,  his 
"  Constitutional  History  of  England,"  which  dates  from 
1827,  and  his  "  Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europe 
in  the  Fifteenth,  Sixteenth,  and  Seventeenth  Centuries," 
which  was  completed  in  1839,  are  still  standard  works. 
By  reason  of  his  conversative  tastes,  he  is  somewhat  less 
trustworthy  as  a  critic  than  as  a  historian.  William  Mit- 
ford's  "  History  of  Greece,"  which  was  completed  in  18 18, 
is  recognized  as  a  work  of  scholarly  ability,  though  it  is 
seriously  marred  by  the  prejudices  of  the  author.  He  was 
almost  fanatical  in  his  opposition  to  the  democratic  ten- 
dencies of  his  age. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  features  of  this  period  is 
the  place  that  woman  now  assumes  in  literature.     Awak- 


376  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

ing  to  a  sense  of  the  conventional  restraints  by  which  she 
had  long  been  surrounded,  she  began  to  desire  a  larger 
freedom  of  thought  and  action.  The  title  of  Mary  Woll- 
stonecraft's  book,  "Vindication  of  the  Rights  of  Woman," 
is  indicative  of  the  rising  movement.  An  unusually  large 
group  of  female  writers,  brought  up  under  the  influence  of 
the  closing  decades  of  the  eighteenth  century,  distinguished 
themselves  in  fiction  and  poetry.  Ann  Radcliffe  belonged 
to  the  romantic  school  and  employed  "  castles  with  secret 
passages,  trap-doors,  forests,  banditti,  abductions,  sliding 
panels,"  as  the  machinery  of  her  stories.  Maria  Edge- 
worth  was  a  noveUst  of  Irish  life,  and  Scott  said  that  her 
work  suggested  his  Scottish  romances.  Jane  Austen,  who 
wrote  realistic  stories  of  contemporary  social  life,  has  been 
called  the  mother  of  the  modern  novel.  Other  writers  be- 
longing to  this  galaxy  are  Anna  Letitia  Barbauld,  Jane 
Porter,  whose  "  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw  "  and  "  Scottish 
Chiefs "  are  still  popular,  and  Hannah  More,  a  poet, 
dramatist,  and  novehst  of  real  ability.  A  list  of  their 
principal  works  will  be  found  on  a  preceding  page. 

Poetry,  recovering  from  its  brief  eclipse  in  the  preced- 
ing period,  shines  forth  with  unwonted  splendor.  Apart 
from  the  great  representative  names  to  be  considered  later, 
—  Wordsworth,  Byron,  Shelley, — the  list  of  secondary 
poets  is  unusually  long  and  unusually  good. 

Thomas  Campbell  early  showed  a  striking  literary  pre- 
cocity. Atthe  age  of  twenty-two,  he  published  the  "  Pleas- 
ures of  Hope,"  the  success  of  which  was  instantaneous. 
Its  opening  lines  are  felicitous  and  well  known :  — 

"At summer  eve,  when  Heaven's  ethereal  bow 
Spans  with  bright  arch  the  glittering  hills  below, 


AGE  .OF  SCOTT.  2>77 

Why  to  yon  mountain  turns  the  musing  eye, 
Whose  sunbright  summit  mingles  with  the  sky? 
Why  do  those  clitfs  of  shadowy  tint  appear 
More  sweet  than  all  the  landscape  smiling  near? 
'Tis  distance  lends  enchantment  to  the  view, 
And  robes  the  mountain  in  its  azure  hue." 

He  did  not  profit  much  by  his  early  success.  The  book- 
sellers offered  him  lucrative  employment ;  but  through 
procrastination  and  constitutional  indolence,  he  disap- 
pointed their  expectations  and  forfeited  their  confidence. 
In  1809  he  pubhshed  his  romantic  poem  of  "Gertrude  of 
Wyoming,"  the  scene  of  which  is  laid  in  Pennsylvania.  It 
ranks  next  to  the  "Pleasures  of  Hope."  But  it  is,  per- 
haps, in  his  lyrical  pieces,  among  which  are  "  Lochiel's 
Warning,"  "  Hohenlinden,"  "  Battle  of  the  Baltic,"  "  Ye 
Mariners  of  England,"  "O'Connor's  Child,"  "Hallowed 
Ground,"  "  The  Soldier's  Dream,"  "  The  Last  Man,"  that 
he  attained  the  highest  excellence.  Elected  lord  rector 
of  the  University  of  Glasgow  in  1826,  he  discharged  his 
duties  with  a  zeal  that  won  admiration.  He  died  in  1844 
and  was  buried  in  Westminster  Abbey. 

John  Keats  was  a  brilliant  but  short-lived  poet.  Had  he 
Hved  to  fulfil  his  early  promise,  it  is  probable  that  he  would 
have  stood  among  the  first  poets  of  the  period.  As  it  is, 
several  of  his  poems  take  rank  among  the  choicest  produc- 
tions of  the  English  muse.  He  began  his  literary  career 
by  the  publication  of  some  sonnets,  which  were  favorably 
received.  The  sonnet  on  "  Chapman's  Homer,"  contain- 
ing the  lines,  — 

"  Then  felt  I  like  some  watcher  of  the  skies 

When  a  new  planet  swims  into  his  ken,"  — 


378  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

is  truly  admirable.  A  volume  of  poems,  published  in  1817, 
was  coldly  received.  The  following  year  appeared  "  En- 
dymion,"  which  contains  some  fine  passages,  the  opening 
lines  being  well  known  :  — 

"  A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever  ; 
Its  loveliness  increases  ;  it  will  never 
Pass  into  nothingness  ;  but  still  will  keep 
A  bower  quiet  for  us,  and  a  sleep 
Full  of  sweet  dreams,  and  health,  and  quiet  breathing." 

The  "  lusciousness  of  the  rhythm,"  which  breaks  com- 
pletely with  Augustan  models,  gave  offence  to  conserva- 
tive critics.  The  poem  was  savagely  attacked  both  in 
Blackivood-AXi^Xh^  Quarterly.  In  1820  Keats  sent  forth 
his  third  volume,  in  which  his  poetic  genius  conquered 
recognition  and  secured  for  him  an  honorable  place  in 
English  literature.  His  "  Hyperion,"  "  Lamia,"  "  Eve  of 
St.  Agnes,"  and  his  odes  to  a  "Nightingale,"  a  "Grecian 
Urn,"  and  "Autumn,"  are  all  exquisite  productions.  He 
went  to  Italy  shortly  after  the  appearance  of  this  volume, 
where  he  died  of  pulmonary  consumption  early  in  1821. 
His  headstone  bears  the  simple  inscription,  dictated  by 
himself,  "  Here  lies  one  whose  name  was  writ  in  water." 

Robert  Southey  is  an  example  of  untiring  industry 
in  literary  pursuits.  He  depended  upon  literature  for 
a  living,  and  Byron  pronounced  him  "the  only  existing 
man  of  letters."  He  worked  with  mechanical  regularity 
and  produced  more  than  a  hundred  volumes  of  poetry  and 
prose.  He  was  a  great  lover  of  books ;  and  his  library, 
which  contained  fourteen  thousand  volumes,  De  Ouincey 
called  his  wife.  When  in  his  old  age  he  became  speech- 
less   and  imbecile,   he   still  wandered  around  his  library, 


AGE    OF  SCOTT.  379 

taking  down  his  books  and  fondly  pressing  them  to  his 
lips.  * 

As  a  poet,  Southey  was  ambitious ;  and  nourishing  his 
talents  on  Tasso,  Ariosto,  and  Spenser,  he  contemplated 
and  composed  several  lengthy  epics.  His  "  Joan  of  Arc," 
a  youthful  performance,  was  well  received.  "  Thalaba  " 
was  pubhshed  in  1801,  "  Madoc,"  on  which  the  poet  was 
content  to  rest  his  fame,  in  1805,  and  the  "Curse  of 
Kehama  "  in  1810.  His  longer  poems  abound  in  splendid 
imagery,  but  they  are  lacking  in  personal  interest  and 
dramatic  art.     He  was  made  poet  laureate  in   18 13. 

"Thalaba,  the  Destroyer"  is  a  rhythmical  romance  in 
irregular  and  unrhymed  measure.  The  opening  lines, 
perhaps  the  best  in  the  poem,  are  very  pleasing :  — 

"  How  beautiful  is  night  ! 
A  dewy  freshness  fills  the  silent  air ; 
No  mist  obscures,  nor  cloud,  nor  speck,  nor  stain 

Breaks  the  serene  of  heaven  : 
In  full-orbed  glory  yonder  moon  divine 

Rolls  through  the  dark  blue  depths. 

Beneath  her  steady  ray 

The  desert  circle  spreads. 
Like  the  round  ocean,  girdled  with  the  sky. 

How  beautiful  is  ni^ht  ! " 


'o' 


Among  his  best  short  pieces  are  "The  Scholar,"  "  Auld 
Cloots,"  "  March  to  Moscow,"  "  Mary  the  Maid  of  the  Inn," 
"  Lodore,"  "The  Well  of  St.  Keyne." 

In  prose  Southey  wrote  criticism,  biography,  and  history, 
in  all  which  he  exhibited  great  learning  and  an  admirable 
style.  His  "  Life  of  Nelson "  is  a  classic  biography. 
Among  his  other  prose  writings  arc  the  "  Life  of  Cowper," 


38o  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

"  Life  of  Wesley,"  "  The  British  Admirals,"  and  "  History 
of  the  Peninsular  War."  "  The  uprightness  and  beauty  of 
his  character,"  says  Saintsbury,  "  his  wonderful  helpfulness 
to  others,  and  the  uncomplaining  way  in  which  he  bore 
what  was  almost  poverty,  are  not  more  generally  acknow- 
ledged than  the  singular  and  pervading  excellence  of  his 
English  prose  style,  the  robustness  of  his  literary  genius, 
and  his  unique  devotion  to  literature." 

Thomas  Moore,  born  of  Irish  parentage  in  Dublin,  al- 
ways remained  an  Irish  patriot,  and  labored  both  in  poetry 
and  prose  to  advance  the  interests  of  his  country.  By  his 
keen  satires  he  brought  reproach  upon  the  oppressors  of 
Ireland  ;  and  by  his  songs  he  awakened  and  sustained  ten- 
der and  patriotic  sentiments.  No  other  poet  except  Byron 
was  more  popular  in  his  day.  He  possessed  great  social 
gifts,  —  a  good  voice,  admirable  conversational  talents,  and 
a  musical  skill  that  enabled  him  to  render  effectively  his 
erotic  and  patriotic  songs.  Though  his  poetry  does  not 
possess  the  highest  qualities, — being  artificial  rather  than 
genuine,  glittering  rather  than  true, — yet  his  poems,  with 
their  wit,  sentiment,  melody,  are  perused,  especially  by 
young  people,  with  more  interest  than  those  of  any  of  his 
contemporaries,  with  the  possible  exception  of  Byron. 

In  1 80 1  he  published  a  collection  of  amatory  verses, 
which  earned  him  the  position  of  poet  laureate,  and  gained 
him  the  title  of  "the  young  Catullus  of  his  day."  In  1806 
he  sent  forth  another  volume,  which  the  EdinbnrgJi  Review 
denounced  as  "a  corrupter  of  morals."  Enraged  at  the 
severity  of  the  criticism,  the  poet  challenged  Jeffrey.  But 
the  duel  was  stopped  by  the  police,  and  on  examination 
the  pistols  were  found  charged  only  with  "villainous  salt- 


AGE    OF  SCOTT.  38 1 

petre  "  —  a  circumstance  that  Byron  did  not  fail  to  notice 
in  his  "  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers  "  :  — 


'b' 


"  Can  none  remember  that  eventful  day, 
That  ever  glorious,  almost  fatal  fray, 
When  Little's  leadless  pistol  met  his  eye, 
And  Bow  Street  myrmidons  stood  laughing  by  ?  " 

Among  Moore's  most  popular  and  most  enduring  pro- 
ductions are  the  "Irish  Melodies"  —  a  collection  of 
charming  lyrics,  tender,  convivial,  or  patriotic,  designed 
to  accompany  popular  airs.  Their  composition  was  a 
congenial  task,  one  well  suited  to  the  poet's  powers.  He 
was  for  Ireland  what  Burns  was  for  Scotland  —  the  singer 
of  his  people.  But  the  songs  of  the  two  poets,  while 
alike  in  attaining  a  high  excellence,  are  very  different. 
Moore  is  artificial,  polished,  reminding  us  of  the  drawing- 
room  ;  Burns  is  unconventional  and  genuine,  suggesting 
the  green  fields  and  singing  birds. 

Moore  wrote  two  long  and  ambitious  poems,  "  Lalla 
Rookh "  and  "The  Loves  of  the  Angels."  Both  are 
Oriental  in  character,  but  the  former  is  far  superior  in 
interest  and  felicity  of  treatment.  Through  a  course  of 
laborious  reading,  he  familiarized  himself  with  Oriental 
customs  and  scenery.  Lalla  Rookh  is  an  Oriental  princess 
who  with  great  pomp  journeys  from  Delhi  to  Bucharia, 
where  she  is  to  marry  the  king.  On  the  way  she  is  en- 
tertained by  a  young  minstrel,  whose  tender,  jDassionate 
songs  win  her  heart.  With  sadness  she  approaches  the 
end  of  her  journey  ;  but  what  is  her  joy  to  find  the  amia- 
ble minstrel  her  future  husband  and  the  King  of  Bucharia! 
The  poem  is  true  in  its  local  coloring,  sparkling  with  Orien- 


382  ENGLISH  UTERATURE. 

tal  gems,  and  fragrant  with  Oriental  musk  and  roses.     A 

single    quotation    from    the    "  Paradise    and    Peri "    musi 

suffice : — 

"  Go,  wing  thy  flight  from  star  to  star, 
From  world  to  kiminous  world,  as  far 

As  the  universe  spreads  its  flaming  wall ; 
Take  all  the  pleasures  of  all  the  spheres, 
And  multiply  each  through  endless  years, 
One  minute  of  Heaven  is  worth  them  all." 

Among  his  prose  works  are  "  The  Epicurean,"  an  East 
ern  romance,  the  "  Life  of  Sheridan,"  which  is  a  friendl) 
panegyric,  and  the  "  Life  of  Byron,"  which  does  nol 
reveal  the  whole  truth  touching  that  nobleman's  life  anc 
character. 


Kngraved  by  G.  H.  Phillips  in  mezrtrtint  sffter  the  painting  by  C.  R.  Leslie,  R.A.,  formerlv  in  the 
possession  of  Mr   Constalile  of  Edinhiirirh.  now  m  the  collection  of  Alaric  A.  'WnttB.  fisq^ 


/i^       -^ty-U^^-^^U^    /^zP-^ 


SIR    WALTER   SCOTT.  383 


SIR   WALTER   SCOTT. 

The  greatest  literary  figure  during  the  first  quarter  of 
the  present  century  is  undoubtedly  Sir  Walter  Scott.  He 
occupied  scarcely  less  relative  prominence  for  a  time  than 
did  Samuel  Johnson  a  few  decades  earlier.  It  is  not  un- 
common to  associate  his  name  with  the  period  in  which  he 
was  preeminent.  He  distinguished  himself  in  both  poetry 
and  prose.  He  created  a  species  of  romantic  poetry  that 
was  received  with  great  applause  until  it  was  eclipsed  by 
the  intenser  productions  of  Byron.  "  Why  did  you  quit 
poetry.^"  a  friend  once  inquired  of  Scott.  "Because 
Byron  beat  me,"  was  the  remarkably  frank  reply.  He 
then  turned  to  fiction ;  and  in  his  splendid  series  of  histori- 
cal romances  he  stands  preeminent  not  only  among  the 
writers  of  England,  but  of  the  world. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  descended  from  a  line  distinguished 
for  sports  and  arms  rather  than  letters.  One  of  his  re- 
mote ancestors  was  once  given  the  choice  of  being  hanged, 
or  marrying  a  woman  who  had  won  the  prize  for  ugliness 
in  four  counties.  After  three  days'  deliberation  he  decided 
in  favor  of  "  meikle-mouthed  Meg,"  who,  be  it  said,  made 
him  an  excellent  wdfe.  It  was  from  her  that  our  author 
possibly  inherited  his  large  mouth.  His  father  was  a 
dignified  man,  orderly  in  his  habits,  and  fond  of  ceremony. 
It  is  said  that  he  "  absolutely  loved  a  funeral  "  ;  and  from 
far  and  near  he  was  sent  for  to  superintend  mortuary 
ceremonies.     As  a  lawyer   he  frequently  lost  clients  by 


384  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

insisting  that  they  should  be  just  —  a  sturdy  uprightness 
that  was  transmitted  to  his  illustrious  son. 

Sir  Walter's  mother  was  a  woman  of  superior  native 
ability  and  of  excellent  education.  She  had  a  good  mem- 
ory and  a  talent  for  narration.  "  If  I  have  been  able  to 
do  anything  in  the  way  of  painting  past  times,"  he  once 
wrote,  "  it  is  very  much  from  the  studies  with  which  she 
presented  me."  He  loved  his  mother  tenderly ;  and  the 
evening  after  his  burial  a  number  of  small  objects  that 
had  once  belonged  to  her  were  found  arranged  in  careful 
order  in  his  desk,  where  his  eye  might  rest  upon  them 
every  morning  before  he  began  his  task.  This  is  an  in- 
stance of  fiHal  piety  as  touching  as  it  is  beautiful. 

Walter  Scott,  the  ninth  of  twelve  children,  was  born  in 
Edinburgh,  Aug.  15,  1771.  On  account  of  sickness  he  was 
sent  into  the  country,  where  his  childhood  was  spent  in  the 
midst  of  attractive  scenery.  Left  lying  out  of  doors  one 
day,  a  thunder-storm  arose ;  and  when  his  aunt  ran  to 
bring  him  in,  she  found  him  delighted  with  the  raging 
elements,  and  shouting,  "  Bonny,  bonny ! "  at  every  flash 
of  lightning.  One  of  the  old  servants  spoke  of  him  as  "a 
sweet-tempered  bairn,  a  darling  with  all  about  the  house." 
But  at  the  same  time  he  was  active,  fearless,  and  passion- 
ate. The  Laird  of  Raeburn,  a  relative,  once  wrung  the 
neck  of  a  pet  starling.  "  I  flew  at  his  throat  like  a  wild 
cat,"  said  Sir  Walter,  as  he  recalled  the  circumstance 
fifty  years  afterward,  "  and  was  torn  from  him  with  no 
little  difficulty." 

At  school  he  established  a  reputation  for  irregular 
abiUty.  He  possessed  great  energy,  vitality,  and  pride, 
and  was  naturally  a  leader  among  his  fellow-pupils.     He 


SIR    WALTER   SCOTT,  385 

had  the  gift  of  story-telling  in  a  remarkable  degree.  He 
found  difhculty  in  confining  himself  to  the  prescribed 
studies  and  persistently  declined  to  learn  Greek.  In 
Latin  he  made  fair  attainments.  He  delighted  in  the 
past,  reverenced  existing  institutions,-  sympathized  with 
royalty,  and  as  a  boy,  as  in  after  life,  he  was  a  Tory. 

As  a  student  of  law  at  the  University  of  Edinburgh 
Scott  was  noted  for  his  gigantic  memory  and  enormous 
capacity  for  work.  His  Hterary  tastes  ran  in  the  direction 
of  mediaeval  Hfe,  and  he  devoured  legend  and  romance 
and  border  song  with  great  avidity.  He  learned  Italian 
to  read  Ariosto,  and  Spanish  to  read  Cervantes,  whose 
novels,  he  said,  "  first  inspired  him  with  the  desire  to 
excel  in  fiction."  But  his  memory  retained  only  what 
suited  his  genius.  He  used  to  illustrate  this  characteristic 
by  the  story  of  an  old  borderer  who  once  said  to  a  Scotch 
divine :  "  No,  sir,  I  have  no  command  of  my  memory.  It 
only  retains  what  hits  my  fancy ;  and  probably,  sir,  if  you 
were  to  preach  to  me  for  two  hours,  I  would  not  be  able, 
when  you  finished,  to  remember  a  word  you  had  been 
saying." 

As  a  lawyer  Scott  was  not  notably  successful.  He  was 
fond  of  making  excursions  over  the  country  to  visit  locali- 
ties celebrated  for  natural  beauty  or  historic  events.  In 
view  of  this  habit,  his  father  reproached  him  as  being 
better  fitted  for  a  pedler  than  for  a  lawyer.  He  was 
rather  fond,  it  must  be  said,  of  living  — 

"  One  crowded  hour  of  glorious  life." 

"But  drunk  or  sober,"  such  is  the  testimony  of  one  of 
his  companions  at  this  time,  "  he  was  aye  the  gentleman." 

2C 


386  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Scott  practised  at  the  bar  fourteen  years ;  but  his  earnings 
never  amounted  to  much  more  than  two  hundred  pounds  a 
year.  In  1799  he  was  made  sheriff  of  Selkirkshire  on  a 
salary  of  three  hundred  pounds ;  and  a  few  years  later  he 
became  clerk  of  the  session,  —  an  officer  in  the  court  of 
Edinburgh,  —  a  position  that  increased  his  income  to  six- 
teen hundred  pounds.  He  was  not  eloquent  as  a  pleader ; 
his  tastes  were  averse  to  legal  drudgery ;  and  his  proclivi- 
ties for  poetry  and  for  rambling  over  the  country  did  not 
enhance  his  reputation  as  a  lawyer.  But  whether  practis- 
ing at  the  bar  or  wandering  over  the  country,  "  he  was 
raakin'  himself  a'  the  time"  —  storing  his  mind  with  the 
facts,  legends,  and  characters  which  he  was  afterward 
to  embody  in  his  immortal  works. 

The  life  of  Scott  was  not  without  its  romance,  and,  — 
but  for  the  effect  upon  his  character  and  works,  we  might 
say,  —  alas,  its  sorrow.  He  one  day  offered  his  umbrella 
to  a  beautiful  young  lady  who  was  coming  out  of  the 
Greyfriars  church  during  a  shower.  It  was  graciously 
accepted.  The  incident  led  to  an  acquaintance,  and,  at 
least  on  the  part  of  Scott,  to  a  deep  attachment.  His 
large  romantic  nature  was  filled  with  visions  of  happiness. 
Then  came  disappointment.  For  some  reason  the  fair 
Margaret  rejected  his  attentions  and  married  a  rival. 
After  the  first  resentment  was  past,  this  attachment  re- 
mained throughout  his  life  a  source  of  tender  recollec- 
tions. Years  afterward  he  went  to  visit  Margaret's 
mother  and  noted  in  his  diary :  "  I  fairly  softened  my- 
self, like  an  old  fool,  with  recalling  old  stories  till  I  was 
fit  for  nothing  but  shedding  tears  and  repeating  verses 
for   the   whole    night."      Within    a   twelvemonth    of    his 


SIR    WALTER   SCOTT.  387 

disappointment,  urged  on  it  may  be  by  his  pride,  he 
married  Miss  Carpenter,  a  lady  of  French  birth  and 
parentage.  Though  it  was  "a  bird  of  paradise  mating 
with  an  eagle,"  she  made  a  good  wife,  and  the  union 
was  upon  the  whole  a  happy  one. 

Though  Scott's  greatest  literary  work  was  to  be  in 
prose,  he  began  with  poetry.  His  first  undertaking  was 
a  translation  from  the  German  of  Burger's  spectral  ballad, 
"  Lenore."  Though  his  rendering  is  spirited,  he  was  far 
too  healthy-minded  to  be  perfectly  at  home  in  treating 
spectral  themes.  He  soon  turned  to  more  congenial  sub- 
jects. From  his  college  days  he  had  been  making  a  col- 
lection of  old  Scottish  ballads.  In  1802  he  published  in 
two  volumes  "The  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border," 
which'was  an  immediate  success. 

This  "proved  to  be  a  well,"  says  Carlyle,  "from  which 
flowed  one  of  the  broadest  rivers.  Metrical  Romances 
(which  in  due  time  pass  into  Prose  Romances);  the  old 
life  of  men  resuscitated  for  us  ;  it  is  a  mighty  word  !  Not 
as  dead  tradition,  but  as  a  palpable  presence,  the  past 
stood  before  us.  There  they  were,  the  rugged  old  fight- 
ing men ;  in  their  doughty  simplicity  and  strength,  with 
their  heartiness,  their  healthiness,  their  stout  self-help, 
in  their  iron  basnets,  leather  jerkins,  jack-boots,  in  their 
quaintness  of  manner  and  costume ;  there  as  they  looked 
and  lived.  It  was  like  a  new-discovered  continent  in 
literature." 

The  native  bent  of  his  mind,  and  his  studies  for  many 
years,  pecuUarly  fitted  him  to  restore  and  illustrate  the  sim- 
plicity and  violence  of  the  old  border  life.  The  transition 
to  original  poems,  in  which  the  legends  and  history  of  the 


388  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

same  region  were  embodied,  was  easily  made.  "The  Lay 
of  the  Last  Minstrel"  was  published  in  1805  and  at  once 
became  widely  popular.  More  than  two  thousand  copies 
were  sold  the  first  year;  and  by  1830  the  sales  reached 
forty-four  thousand  copies,  bringing  the  author  nearly  a 
thousand  pounds. 

Three  years  later  "  Marmion,"  his  greatest  poem,  ap- 
peared;  and  this  was  followed  in  1810  by  the  "Lady  of 
the  Lake."  They  were  read  with  enthusiasm.  They 
were  new  in  subject  and  treatment.  Without  any  pre-  ^ 
tension  to  classical  regularity  and  finish,  they  were  rapid, 
energetic,  and  romantic  —  the  style  exactly  suited  to  the 
subject.  "I  am  sensible,"  the  author  said,  "that  if  there 
be  anything  good  about  my  poetry  or  prose  either,  it  is  a 
hurried  frankness  of  composition,  which  pleases  soldiers, 
sailors,  and  young  people  of  bold  and  active  dispositions." 
They  are  so  simple  in  structure  and  thought  as  to  be 
easily  comprehended ;  they  abound  in  wild  scenes  and 
daring  deeds ;  they  are  suffused  with  a  patriotic,  martial 
spirit,  and  the  delirious  enjoyment  of  wild  outdoor  life. 

Scott's  poetry  may  be  characterized  as  objective.  In 
place  of  meditation  and  mysticism,  —  a  wrestling  with  the 
great  mystery  of  existence,  —  we  have  graphic  descrip- 
tions of  external  objects.  He  pictures  things  for  us,  as 
in  the  lines  at  the  opening  of  "  Marmion,"  descriptive  of 
the  castle:  — 

"The  warriors  on  the  turrets  high, 
Moving  athwart  the  evening  sky, 
Seemed  forms  of  giant  height ; 
Their  armor,  as  it  caught  the  rays, 
Flashed  back  again  the  western  blaze, 
In  lines  of  dazzling  light." 


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SIR    WALTER   SCOTT.  389 

Some  of  his  battle  scenes  are  unsurpassed  for  their 
vividness  and  power.  His  lyric  faculty  is  very  great; 
and  some  of  the  songs  in  "The  Lady  of  the  Lake"  are 
almost  unequalled  in  their  picturesque  melody.  Take,  for 
example,  Ellen's  song,  beginning:  — 

"  Soldier,  rest !  thy  warfare  o'er. 

Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking ; 
Dream  of  battle-fields  no  more, 

Days  of  danger,  nights  of  waking. 
In  our  isle's  enchanted  hall, 

Hands  unseen  thy  couch  are  strewing ; 
Fairy  strains  of  music  fall, 

Every  sense  in  slumber  dewing. 
Soldier,  rest!  thy  warfare  o'er, 
Dream  of  fighting  fields  no  more  : 
Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking. 
Morn  of  toil,  nor  night  of  waking." 

Nearly  all  of  Scott's  poetry  was  written  in  a  beautiful 
little  country  house  at  Ashestiel.  The  locality  is  vividly 
depicted  in  the  first  canto  of  "  Marmion  "  :  — 

"  November's  sky  is  chill  and  drear, 
November's  leaf  is  red  and  sear : 
Late,  gazing  down  the  steepy  linn. 
That  hems  our  little  garden  in. 
Low  in  its  dark  and  narrow  glen, 
You  scarce  the  rivulet  might  ken, 
So  thick  the  tangled  greenwood  grew, 
So  feeble  trilled  the  streamlet  through  : 
Now,  murmuring  hoarse,  and  frequent  seen, 
Through  bush  and  briar  no  longer  green. 
An  angry  brook,  it  sweeps  the  glade, 
Brawls  over  rock  and  wild  cascade. 
And,  foaming  brown  with  double  speed, 
Hurries  its  waters  to  the  Tweed." 


390  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

He  devoted  the  first  part  of  the  day  to  his  literary  work. 
"Arrayed  in  his  shooting-jacket,  or  whatever  dress  he 
meant  to  use  till  dinner-time,  he  was  seated  at  his  desk  by 
six  o'clock,  all  his  papers  arranged  before  him  in  the  most 
accurate  order,  and  his  books  of  reference  marshalled 
around  him  on  the  floor,  while  at  least  one  favorite  dog  lay 
watching  his  eye,  just  beyond  the  line  of  circumvallation. 
Thus,  by  the  time  the  family  assembled  for  breakfast,  be- 
tween nine  and  ten,  he  had  done  enough,  in  his  own  lan- 
guage, '  to  break  the  neck  of  the  day's  work.'  " 

During  the  seven  years  of  his  residence  at  Ashestiel, 
his  literary  labors  included,  besides  his  poetry,  a  "  Life  of 
Dryden,"  "The  Secret  History  of  James  L,"  and  many 
other  works  of  less  importance. 

In  1 8 12  Scott  moved  to  Abbotsford,  where  he  spent  the 
rest  of  his  life.  He  was  a  man  of  great  personal  and 
family  pride.  It  was  his  ambition  to  live  in  great  magnifi- 
cence and  to  dispense  hospitality  on  a  large  scale.  He 
bought  a  large  area  of  land  at  an  aggregate  expense 
of  twenty-nine  thousand  pounds  and  erected  a  baronial 
castle.  Here  he  realized  for  a  time  his  ideal  of  life.  He 
was  visited  by  distinguished  men  and  hero-worshippers 
from  all  parts  of  the  world.  Indeed,  his  fame  became  op- 
pressive. His  correspondence  was  enormous,  and  as  many 
as  sixteen  parties  of  sight-seers  visited  Abbotsford  in  a 
single  day. 

For  his  friends  Scott  was  the  prince  of  hosts.  Devoting 
only  the  earlier  part  of  the  day  to  work,  he  placed  his 
afternoons  wholly  at  the  service  of  his  guests.  Hunting 
was  his  favorite  sport,  and  he  led  many  a  brilliant  party 
over  the  hills  and    through   the    valleys   to   the   echoing 


SIR    WALTER   SCOTT.  39 1 

music  of  his  hounds.  His  large  benevolent  nature  drew 
men  to  him.  To  all  classes  he  was  thoroughly  kind, 
"  Sir  Walter  speaks  to  every  man  as  if  they  were  blood 
relations,"  was  a  common  description  of  his  demeanor. 
Even  the  dumb  animals  recognized  in  him  a  friend. 

Apart  from  his  social  enjoyments,  Scott  found  most  de- 
light in  planting  trees.  He  greatly  beautified  his  estate 
and  imparted  a  taste  for  arboriculture  to  the  landholders 
about  him.  "Planting  and  pruning  trees,"  he  said,  "I 
could  work  at  from  morning  to  night.  There  is  a  sort  of 
self-congratulation,  a  little  self-flattery,  in  the  idea  that 
while  you  are  pleasing  and  amusing  yourself,  you  are 
seriously  contributing  to  the  future  welfare  of  the  coun- 
try, and  that  your  acorn  may  send  its  future  ribs  of  oak 
to  future  victories  like  Trafalgar." 

The  great  mistake  in  Scott's  life  lay  in  his  business  ven- 
tures. Through  them  came  ultimately  embarrassment  and 
disaster.  In  the  hope  of  increasing  his  income,  he  estab- 
lished the  publishing  house  of  John  Ballantyne  &  Co.,  in 
Edinburgh.  John  Ballantyne  was  a  frivolous,  dissipated 
man,  wholly  unfit  for  the  management  of  the  enterprise. 
Scott,  though  possessing  sufficient  discernment,  was  easily 
led  away  by  his  feelings.  As  a  consequence,  the  ware- 
houses of  the  new  firm  were  soon  filled  with  a  quantity  of 
unsalable  stock.  Only  the  extensive  sale  of  his  novels 
saved  the  company  from  early  bankruptcy.  But  ulti- 
mately the  crash  came,  and  in  1825  Scott  found  himself 
personally  responsible  for  the  enormous  debt  of  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty  thousand  pounds. 

For  years  he  had  been  the  hterary  sovereign  of  Great 
Britain.     He  had  lived  in  the  midst  of  great  splendor  at 


392  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Abbotsford.  To  find  his  means  swept  away  in  a  single 
moment  was  a  terrific  blow,  sufficient  to  crush  an  ordinary 
man.  But  at  no  time  in  his  career  did  Scott  exhibit  so 
fully  his  heroic  character.  Instead  of  crushing  him,  mis- 
fortune only  called  forth  his  strength.  With  indomitable 
will  and  sturdy  integrity  he  set  to  work  to  meet  his  im- 
mense obligations.  There  is  nothing  more  heroic  in  the 
course  of  English  literature.  Work  after  work  came  from 
his  pen  in  rapid  succession.  He  well-nigh  accomplished 
his  purpose;  but  at  last,  as  we  shall  see,  his  mind  and 
body  gave  way  under  the  tremendous  strain,  and  he  fell 
a  martyr  to  high-souled  integrity. 

In  1 8 14,  when  the  affairs  of  Ballantyne  &  Co.  were  in  a 
perplexing  condition,  Scott  took  up  a  work  in  prose,  which 
he  had  begun  in  1805,  and  pushed  it  rapidly  to  comple- 
tion. This  was  "Waverley,"  the  first  of  that  wonderful 
series  which  has  placed  his  name  at  the  head  of  historical 
novelists.  Though  published  anonymously,  as  were  all 
its  successors,  it  met  with  astonishing  success.  It  decided 
his  future  literary  career.  His  poetic  vein  had  been  ex- 
hausted, and  Byron's  verse  was  attracting  public  atten- 
tion. Henceforth  he  devoted  himself  to  historical  fiction, 
for  which  his  native  powers  and  previous  training  were 
precisely  adapted. 

For  the  remainder  of  his  life  he  composed,  in  addition 
to  other  literary  labors,  on  an  average  two  romances  a 
year,  illustrating  every  period  in  Scottish,  English,  and 
continental  history  from  the  time  of  the  Crusades  to  the 
middle  of  the  eighteenth  century.  The  series  is,  upon 
the  whole,  remarkably  even  in  excellence ;  but  among  the 
most    interesting    may    be    mentioned    "Old    Mortality," 


SIR    WALTER   SCOTT.  393 

which  describes  the  sufferings  of  the  Covenanters  ;  "  The 
Heart  of  Midlothian,"  to  which  many  critics  assign  the 
highest  rank;  "  Ivanhoe,"  which  is  very  popular;  and 
"  Ouentin  Durward,"  which  holds  a  distinguished  place. 

Before  this  time  attempts  at  the  historical  novel  had 
been  artificial.  Contemporary  ways  were  simply  trans- 
ferred to  a  more  or  less  remote  period,  without  regard  to 
what  is  known  as  "  local  coloring."  While  working  in  the 
romantic  spirit  that  had  already  appeared,  Scott  created  in 
its  true  sense  the  historical  novel  as  a  real  transcript  of 
the  past,  and  raised  it  to  an  excellence  that  has  never 
been  surpassed.  He  brought  before  the  mind  a  magnifi- 
cent living  panorama,  often  ideahzed,  indeed,  of  previous 
ages.  His  work  is  not  without  defects  and  Hmitations ; 
but,  "  after  all,  it  is  such  a  body  of  literature  as,  for  com- 
plete liberation  from  any  debts  to  models,  fertility  and 
abundance  of  invention,  nobility  of  sentiment,  variety  and 
keenness  of  delight,  nowhere  else  exists." 

In  the  composition  of  these  works  Scott  wrote  with 
extraordinary  rapidity.  "Guy  Mannering "  is  said  to 
have  been  written  in  six  weeks.  Carlyle  finds  fault  with 
what  he  calls  the  "extempore  method."  But  in  reality  it 
was  not  extempore.  It  had  been  Scott's  delight  from 
childhood  to  store  his  capacious  memory  with  the  anti- 
quarian and  historical  information  which  he  embodied  in 
his  novels.  Instead  of  laborious  special  investigations,  he 
had  but  to  draw  on  this  great  reservoir  of  learning.  He 
did  not  wait  for  moments  of  inspiration  ;  but  morning 
after  morning  he  returned  to  his  task,  with  the  same  zest, 
and  turned  out  the  same  amount  of  work. 

Even   acute   physical    suffering   did    not    overcome    his 


394  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

creative  power.  He  dictated  "  The  Bride  of  Lammer- 
moor,"  "The  Legend  of  Montrose,"  and  "  Ivanhoe "  to 
amanuenses.  His  suffering  sometimes  forced  from  him 
cries  of  agony.  When  his  amanuensis  once  begged  him 
to  stop  dictating,  he  only  answered,  "  Nay,  Wilhe,  only 
see  that  the  doors  are  fast ;  I  would  fain  keep  all  the  cry 
as  well  as  all  the  wool  to  ourselves."  A  few  other  writers 
have  equalled  or  even  surpassed  Scott  in  the  number  of 
novels ;  but,  if  we  consider  the  quality  of  work  and  the 
many  centuries  covered  by  his  romances,  we  must  regard 
him  as  still  without  a  successful  rival. 

The  Waverley  novels  are  characterized  by  largeness  of 
thought  and  style.  They  turn  on  public  rather  than  pri- 
vate interests.  In  place  of  narrow  social  circles,  we  are 
introduced  into  the  midst  of  great  public  movements. 
Crusaders,  Papists,  Puritans,  Cavaliers,  Roundheads,  Jaco- 
bites, Jews,  freebooters,  preachers,  schoolmasters,  gyp- 
sies, beggars,  move  before  us  with  the  reality  of  life. 
"  His  comprehensive  power,"  says  Stopford  Brooke, 
"  which  drew  with  the  same  certainty  so  many  characters 
in  so  many  various  classes,  was  the  direct  result  of  his 
profound  sympathy  with  the  simpler  feelings  of  the  human 
heart,  and  of  his  pleasure  in  writing  so  as  to  make  human 
life  more  beautiful  and  more  good  in  the  eyes  of  men." 

Scott's  style  corresponds  to  the  largeness  of  his  subjects. 
He  paints  with  a  large  brush.  He  could  not  have 
achieved  distinction  in  domestic  novels,  with  their  petty 
interests  and  trifling  distinctions.  He  was  an  admirer  of 
Miss  Austen,  in  reference  to  whose  manner  he  said  :  [^^_The 
big  bow-wow  strain  I  can  do  myself,  like  any  now  going ; 
but  the  exquisite   touch  which  renders  ordinary  common- 


SIR    WALTER   SCOTT.  395 

place  things  and  characters  interesting,  from  the  truth  of 
the  description  and  the  sentiment,  is  denied  me/"  "  Scott 
needed,"  observes  Hutton,  "  a  certain  largeness  of  type,  a 
strongly  marked  class-life,  and,  where  it  was  possible,  a  free 
out-of-doors  life,  for  his  delineations.  No  one  could  paint 
beggars  and  gypsies,  and  wandering  fiddlers,  and  merce- 
nary soldiers,  and  peasants,  and  farmers,  and  lawyers,  and 
magistrates,  and  preachers,  and  courtiers,  and  statesmen, 
and  best  of  all  perhaps  queens  and  kings,  with  anything 
like  his  ability." 

In  1825,  after  the  failure  of  Ballantyne  &  Co.,  Scott  reso- 
lutely set  to  work  to  pay  his  creditors.  His  only  resource 
was  his  pen.  Although  his  cherished  hopes  were  all 
blasted,  he  toiled  on  indomitably  till  nature  gave  way. 
Two  days  after  the  news  of  the  crash  reached  him,  he  was 
working  on  "  Woodstock."  In  three  years  he  earned  and 
paid  over  to  his  creditors  no  less  than  forty  thousand 
pounds.  If  his  health  had  continued,  he  would  have  dis- 
charged the  enormous  debt.  But  unfavorable  symptoms 
began  to  manifest  themselves  in  1829,  and  the  following 
year  he  had  a  stroke  of  paralysis.  Though  he  recovered 
from  it,  his  faculties  never  regained  their  former  clearness 
and  strength.  Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  the  urgent  advice 
of  physicians  and  friends,  he  continued  to  toil  on.  "  Count 
Robert  of  Paris"  and  "Castle  Dangerous"  appeared '  in 
1831.  But  they  showed  a  decline  in  mental  vigor  —  his 
magic  wand  was  broken.  An  entry  in  his  diary  at  this 
time  is  truly  pathetic :  "  The  blow  is  a  stunning  one,  I  sup- 
pose, for  I  scarcely  feel  it.  It  is  singular,  but  it  comes 
with  as  little  surprise  as  if  I  had  a  remedy  ready :  yet  God 
knows  I  am  at  sea  in   the   dark,  and  the  vessel  leaky,  I 


396  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

think,  into  the  bargain."     It  is  the  pathos  of  a  strong  man's 
awaking  to  a  consciousness  that  his  strength  is  gone. 

A  sea  voyage  was  recommended;  and  in  October,  1831, 
he  sailed,  in  a  vessel  put  at  his  disposal  by  the  government, 
for  Malta.  He  visited  various  points  on  the  Mediterra- 
nean, but  without  material  benefit.  With  the  failing  of  his 
strength,  he  longed  for  Abbotsford.  As  he  caught  sight 
of  the  towers  once  more,  he  sprang  up  with  a  cry  of  de- 
light. A  few  days  before  his  death  he  called  his  son-in- 
law  Lockhart  to  his  bedside.  "  Lockhart,"  he  said,  "  I 
may  have  but  a  minute  to  speak  to  you.  My  dear,  be  a 
good  man,  —  be  virtuous,  —  be  religious,  —  be  a  good  man. 
Nothing  else  will  give  you  any  comfort  when  you  come  to 
lie  here.'"  These  were  almost  his  last  words.  Four  days 
afterward,  during  which  time  he  showed  scarcely  any  signs 
of  consciousness,  he  quietly  passed  away,  Sept.  21,  1832, 
—  one  of  the  grandest,  but,  also,  —  if  we  think  of  his  dis- 
appointed hopes,  —  one  of  the  saddest  characters  in  English 
literature. 


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LORD  BYRON.  397 


LORD    BYRON. 

No  other  poet  has  so  embodied  himself  in  his  poetry  as 
Byron.  Had  he  not  possessed  a  powerful  individuality, 
his  works  would  long  since  have  perished.  He  was 
utterly  lacking  in  the  independent  creative  power  of 
Shakespeare,  who  never  identified  himself  with  his  char- 
acters. Throughout  Byron's  many  works,  we  see  but  one 
person  —  a  proud,  misanthropic,  sceptical,  ungovernable 
man.  Whatever  exaggerations  of  feature  there  may  be  in 
the  portrait,  we  recognize  the  essential  outlines  of  the  poet 
himself. 

His  poetry  is  largely  autobiographical  and  his  utterance 
intense.  Without  the  careful  artistic  polish  of  many 
minor  poets,  his  manner  is  rapid,  stirring,  powerful.  He 
was,  perhaps,  the  most  remarkable  poetic  genius  of  the 
century ;  yet  his  powers  were  not  turned  to  the  best 
account.  He  lacked  the  balance  of  a  noble  character  and 
a  well-regulated  hfe.  On  reading  a  collection  of  Burns's 
poems,  he  once  exclaimed  :  "  What  an  antithetical  mind  ! 

—  tenderness,  roughness  —  delicacy,  coarseness  • —  senti- 
ment, sensuality  —  soaring  and  grovelling  —  dirt  and  deity 

—  all  mi.xed  up  in  that  one  compound  of  inspired  clay." 
The  same  antitheses  might  be  applied  with  equal  truth  to 
himself. 

His  place  in  literature  is  not  yet  fixed.  "  In  my  mind," 
wrote  Carlyle,  "  Byron  has  been  sinking  at  an  accelerated 


398  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

rate  for  the  last  ten  years  and  has  now  reached  a  very- 
low  level."  On  the  other  hand,  Taine  declares  that  "he 
is  so  great  and  so  English,  that  from  him  alone  we  shall 
learn  more  truths  of  his  country  and  his  age  than  from  all 
the  rest  put  together." 

When  the  final  verdict  is  made  up,  the  Scotchman  will 
probably  be  nearer  the  truth  than  the  Frenchman.  The 
finest  strains  of  poetry  are  not  to  be  found  in  his  produc- 
tions ;  and  the  moral  sense  of  the  world  has  become  too 
strong  to  approve  his  flippant  scepticism  or  condone  his 
shameful  immoralities.  He  once  called  himself,  "  the 
grand  Napoleon  of  the  realms  of  rhyme."  The  compari- 
son is  not  unjust ;  but  in  both  cases  alike  the  glamour  of 
brilliant  achievement  has  been  stripped  off,  and  the  for- 
bidding personal  character  brought  to  light.  Byron  was 
endowed  with  extraordinary  ability ;  but  in  large  measure 
he  used  his  powers  to  vent  his  misanthropy,  to  mock  at 
virtue  and  religion,  and  to  conceal  the  hideousness  of  vice. 

George  Gordon,  Lord  Byron,  was  born  in  London, 
Jan.  22,  1788.  His  ancestry  runs  back  in  an  unbroken 
line  of  nobility  to  the  time  of  William  the  Conqueror.  His 
father  was  an  unprincipled  and  heartless  profligate,  who 
married  an  heiress  to  get  her  property,  and  who,  as  soon 
as  this  was  squandered,  abandoned  her.  His  mother  was 
a  proud,  passionate,  hysterical  woman,  who  alternately 
caressed  and  abused  her  child.  At  one  moment  treating 
him  with  extravagant  fondness,  at  the  next  she  reproached 
him  as  a  "  lame  brat,"  and  flung  the  poker  at  his  head. 
"Your  mother's  a  fool,"  said  a  school  companion  to  him. 
"  I  know  it,"  was  the  painful  and  humiliating  answer. 
With  such  parentage  and  such  rearing,  it  becomes  us  to 


LORD   BYRON.  399 

temper   somewhat  the  severity  of   our   judgment   of   his 
character. 

He  was  sent  to  school  at  Harrow.  "  I  soon  found," 
wrote  the  head-master  shortly  afterward,  "that  a  wild 
mountain  colt  had  been  submitted  to  my  management." 
Byron  did  not  take  much  interest  in  the  prescribed  studies 
and  never  became  an  accurate  scholar.  His  reading,  how- 
ever, was  extensive,  and  he  learned  French  and  Italian. 
He  formed  a  few  warm  friendships.  During  one  of  his 
vacations,  he  fell  in  love  with  Mary  Ann  Chaworth,  whose 
father  the  poet's  grand-uncle  had  slain  in  a  tavern  brawl. 
He  was  fifteen,  and  she  was  two  years  older.  Looking 
upon  him  as  a  boy,  she  did  not  take  his  attachment  seri- 
ously, and  a  year  later  married  another.  To  Byron,  who 
loved  her  with  all  the  ardor  of  his  nature,  it  was  a  griev- 
ous disappointment ;  and  years  afterward,  when  he  him- 
self stood  at  the  altar,  recollections  of  her  disturbed  his 
soul.  The  story  is  told  in  "The  Dream,"  a  poem  of 
much  beauty :  — 

"  The  boy  had  fewer  summers,  but  his  heart 
Had  far  outgrown  his  years,  and  to  his  eye 
There  was  but  one  beloved  face  on  earth." 

In  1805  Byron  entered  Trinity  College,  Cambridge, 
with  which  he  was  connected  for  nearly  three  years. 
Like  many  of  his  predecessors  of  independent  genius  — 
Bacon,  Milton,  Locke,  Gibbon  —  he  cared  little  for  the 
university  training.  He  was  fond  of  outdoor  sports  and 
excelled  in  cricket,  boxing,  riding,  and  shooting.  Along 
with  a  good  deal  of  miscellaneous  reading,  he  wrote 
verses,  and  in  1808  he  pubHshed  a  volume  entitled  "  Hours 


400  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

of  Idleness."  The  work  gave  little  evidence  of  poetic 
genius,  and  was  the  subject  of  a  rasping  critique  in  the 
Ediiiburgh  Review.  "The  poesy  of  this  young  lord,"  it 
was  said  with  some  justice,  "belongs  to  the  class  which 
neither  gods  nor  men  are  said  to  permit.  Indeed,  we  do 
not  recollect  to  have  seen  a  quantity  of  verse  with  so  few 
deviations  in  either  direction  from  that  exact  standard." 

While  affecting  contempt  for  public  opinion,  Byron  was 
always  acutely  sensitive  to  adverse  criticism ;  and  the 
exasperating  attack  of  the  Edijiburgh  Review  stung  him 
like  a  blow,  rousing  him  to  fury.  The  result  was,  a  little 
later,  the  furious  and  indiscriminate  onslaught  known  as 
"  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers."  "  Prepare,"  he 
shouted,  — 

"  Prepare  for  rhyme  —  I'll  publish  right  or  wrong ; 
Fools  are  my  theme,  let  satire  be  my  song." 

The  first  edition  was  exhausted  in  a  month.  Though 
violent,  indiscriminate,  and  often  unjust,  the  satire  indi- 
cated something  of  his  latent  power. 

In  1809,  after  a  few  weeks  of  wild  revel  at  his  ancestral 
seat  of  Newstead  Abbey,  he  set  out  upon  his  travels  and 
visited  Portugal,  Spain,  Greece,  and  Turkey.  His  restless 
spirit  found  some  degree  of  satisfaction  in  roving  from 
place  to  place.  While  continuing  to  lead  an  ill-regulated 
life,  he  carried  with  him  the  eyes  of  a  keen  observer  and 
the  sentiments  of  a  great  poet.  His  experience  and  obser- 
vation are  given  in  the  first  two  cantos  of  "Childe  Harold's 
Pilgrimage."  Though  he  affirmed  that  Childe  Harold  is 
a  fictitious  character,  it  is  impossible  not  to  identify  him 
with  the  poet  himself. 


LORD    BYRON.  4OI 

"Whilome  in  Albion's  isle  there  dwelt  a  youth, 

Who  ne  in  virtue's  ways  did  take  delight ; 

But  spent  his  days  in  riot  most  uncouth, 

And  vexed  with  mirth  the  drowsy  ear  of  night. 
****** 

And  now  Childe  Harold  was  sore  sick  at  heart. 

And  from  his  fellow  bacchanals  would  flee ; 

'Tis  said  at  times  the  sullen  tear  would  start, 

But  pride  congealed  the  drop  within  his  ee : 

Apart  he  stalked  in  joyless  reverie, 

And  from  his  native  land  resolved  to  go. 

And  visit  scorching  climes  beyond  the  sea ; 

With  pleasure  drugged  he  almost  longed  for  woe. 

And  e'en  for  change  of  scene  would  seek  the  shades  below." 

The  poem  is  written  in  Spenserian  stanza,  and  the  anti- 
quated style  which  he  affected  at  iirst  was  soon  cast  aside. 
It  opened  a  new  field,  and  its  rich  descriptions  seized  the 
public  fancy.  It  ran  through  seven  editions  in  four  weeks, 
and  to  use  the  author's  words,  "  He  woke  up  one  morning 
to  find  himself  famous." 

The  other  results  of  his  Eastern  travels  are  "  The 
Giaour,"  "The  Bride  of  Abydos,"  "The  Corsair,"  and 
"  Lara  "  —  poetical  romances  of  passion  and  violence,  which 
were  received  with  outbursts  of  applause.  They  equalled  or 
surpassed  Scott  in  his  own  field  —  a  fact  which  he  had  the 
judgment  to  recognize  and  the  manliness  to  confess. 
"The  Bride  of  Abydos"  contains,  in  its  opening  lines,  a 
beautiful  imitation  of  Mignon's  song  in  Goethe's  "  Wilhelm 
Meister":  — 

"  Know  ye  the  land  where  the  cypress  and  myrtle 

Are  emblems  of  deeds  that  are  done  in  their  clime? 
Where  the  rage  of  the  vulture,  the  love  of  tlie  turtle, 
Now  melt  into  sorrow,  now  madden  to  crime!  " 
2  D 


402  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

"The  Corsair  "  is  written  in  the  heroic  couplet  of  Pope. 
"The  stanza  of  Spenser,"  Byron  says  in  the  dedication,  "  is 
perhaps  too  slow  and  dignified  for  narrative,  though  I  con- 
fess, it  is  the  measure  most  after  my  own  heart :  Scott 
alone,  of  the  present  generation,  has  hitherto  completely 
triumphed  over  the  fatal  facility  of  the  octosyllabic  verse, 
and  this  is  not  the  least  victory  of  his  fertile  and  mighty 
genius ;  in  blank  verse,  Milton,  Thomson,  and  our  dram- 
atists are  the  beacons  that  shine  along  the  deep,  but  warn 
us  from  the  rough  and  barren  rock  on  which  they  are  kin- 
dled. The  heroic  couplet  is  not  the  most  popular  measure 
certainly ;  but  as  I  did  not  deviate  into  the  other,  from  a 
wish  to  flatter  what  is  called  public  opinion,  I  shall  quit  it 
without  further  apology." 

Byron  had  returned  to  England  in  1812,  after  an  absence 
of  two  years ;  and  while  the  various  works  mentioned 
were  appearing,  he  led  a  fashionable  and  dissipated  life  in 
London.  When  the  right  mood  was  on  him,  he  had  the 
power  of  making  himself  highly  entertaining.  His  pres- 
ence was  striking.  "As  for  poets,"  says  Scott,  "I  have 
seen  all  the  best  of  my  time  and  country ;  and  though 
Burns  had  the  most  glorious  eye  imaginable,  I  never 
thought  any  of  them  could  come  up  to  an  artist's  notion  of 
the  character,  except  Byron.  His  countenance  is  a  thing 
to  dream  of." 

Byron  was  naturally  idolized  by  women ;  but  never  dis- 
cerning the  nobler  elements  of  their  character,  he  set  a 
low  estimate  upon  them.  "I  regard  them,"  he  says,  "as 
very  pretty  but  inferior  creatures,  who  are  as  little  in 
their  place  at  our  tables  as  they  would  be  in  our  council 
chambers.  ...     I  look  upon  them  as  grown-up  children." 


LORD  BYRON.  403 

He  was  destitute  of  the  power  of  characterization  as  we 
see  it  in  our  best  novehsts  and  poets.  His  heroines  are 
all  of  one  type  —  Oriental  beauties,  loving  and  passion- 
ate, but  without  intellectual  aspiration  and  true  womanly- 
tenderness. 

In  181 5  he  married  Miss  Milbanke ;  but  there  was  no 
love  on  either  side,  and  it  proved  an  ill-sorted  match. 
Though  an  excellent  woman,  his  wife  was  exacting  and 
unsympathetic.  Impatient  at  his  late  hours,  she  inquired 
when  he  was  going  to  leave  off  writing  verses.  On  the 
other  hand,  he  was  fitful,  violent,  and  immoral. 

At  the  end  of  a  year,  and  after  the  birth  of  their 
daughter  Ada,  she  went  to  her  father's,  and  informed 
Byron  that  she  did  not  intend  ever  to  return  to  him. 
The  separation  created  a  sensation  ;  and  the  burden  of 
blame,  as  was  no  doubt  just,  fell  upon  him.  He  sank 
in  popular  esteem  as  suddenly  as  he  had  risen.  He 
dared  not  go  to  the  theatres  for  fear  of  being  hissed,  nor 
to  Parliament  for  fear  of  being  insulted.  His  poem  "  Fare 
Thee  Well"  was  addressed  to  his  wife  after  their  separa- 
tion. An  acquaintance  with  the  facts  makes  it  hard  for 
us  to  believe  in  the  sincerity  of  what  would  otherwise  be 
a  pathetic  poem  :  — 

"  Though  my  many  faults  defaced  me, 

Could  no  other  arm  be  found 
Than  the  one  which  once  embraced  me, 
To  inflict  a  cureless  wound? 

"  Yet,  oh  yet,  thyself  deceive  not, 
Love  may  sink  by  slow  decay, 
But  by  sudden  wrench,  believe  not 
Hearts  can  thus  be  torn  away.'' 


404  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

The  result  of  the  opprobrium,  which  this  unfortunate 
event  in  his  Hfe  brought  upon  him,  is  given  in  his  own 
words  :  "  I  felt  that,  if  what  was  whispered  and  muttered 
and  murmured  was  true,  I  was  unfit  for  England ;  if  false, 
England  was  unfit  for  me."  Accordingly,  in  18 16,  dis- 
appointed and  burdened  at  heart,  he  left  his  native  shore 

never  to  return. 

"  I  depart, 
Whitherl  know  not ;  but  the  hour's  gone  by. 
When  Albion's  lessening  shores  could  grieve  or  glad  mine  eye. 

"Once  more  upon  the  waters!  yet  once  more! 
And  the  waves  bound  beneath  me  as  a  steed 
That  knows  his  rider.     Welcome  to  their  roar! 
Swift  be  their  guidance,  wheresoever  it  lead! 
Though  the  strained  mast  should  quiver  as  a  reed, 
And  the  rent  canvas  ifluttering  strew  the  gale, 
Still  I  must  on ;  for  I  am  as  a  weed 
Flung  from  the  rock,  on  ocean's  foam  to  sail, 
Where'er  the  surge  may  sweep,  the  tempest's  breath  prevail." 

With  this  voluntary  exile  he  entered  upon  a  new  era 
of  authorship,  in  which  he  attained  to  the  full  maturity  of 
his  powers.  At  Geneva  he  wrote  the  third,  and  at  Venice 
the  fourth  canto  of  "  Childe  Harold,"  and  at  once  placed 
himself  among  the  great  masters  of  English  verse.  Land- 
scapes of  unsurpassed  majesty  and  beauty  are  portrayed; 
history  lives  again ;  our  feelings  are  stirred  with  deep 
emotion.  Treasures  are  found  on  every  page.  For  ex- 
ample :  — 

"The  sky  is  changed!  —  and  such  a  change!  O  night, 
And  storm,  and  darkness,  ye  are  wondrous  strong, 
Yet  lovely  in  your  strength,  as  is  the  light 
Of  a  dark  eye  in  woman!  Far  along, 


LORD   BYRON.  405 

From  peak  to  peak,  the  rattling  crags  among, 
Leaps  the  live  thunder!     Not  from  one  lone  cloud, 
But  every  mountain  now  hath  found  a  tongue. 
And  Jura  answers  through  her  misty  shroud, 
Back  to  the  joyous  Alps,  who  call  to  her  aloud." 

Or  again  :  — 

"  I  see  before  me  the  gladiator  lie  : 
He  leans  upon  his  hand  —  his  manly  brow 
Consents  to  death,  but  conquers  agony, 
And  his  drooped  head  sinks  gradually  low  — 
And  through  his  side  the  last  drops,  ebbing  slow 
From  the  red  gash,  fall  heavy,  one  by  one. 
Like  the  first  of  a  thunder  shower;  and  now 
The  arena  swims  around  him  —  he  is  gone. 
Ere  ceased  the  inhuman  shout  that  hailed  the  wretch  who  won." 

Once  more  :  — 

"  There  is  a  pleasure  in  the  pathless  woods, 
There  is  a  rapture  on  the  lonely  shore, 
There  is  society  where  none  intrades, 
By  the  deep  sea,  and  music  in  its  roar: 
I  love  not  man  the  less,  but  nature  more. 
From  these  our  interviews,  in  which  J  steal 
From  all  1  may  be  or  have  been  before. 
To  mingle  with  the  universe,  and  feel 
What  1  can  ne'er  express,  yet  cannot  all  conceal." 

At  Geneva  he  wrote  the  touching  story  of  Bonnivard, 
"The  Prisoner  of  Chillon,"  which  belongs  to  the  group  of 
romantic  tales.  There  is  no  resemblance  between  the 
hero  of  the  poem  and  the  historic  prisoner  of  Chillon,  of 
whom  Byron  knew  little  or  nothing  at  the  time  he  wrote. 
"When  the  poem  was  composed,"  he  frankly  confesses, 
"  I  was  not  sufficiently  aware  of  the  history  of  Bonnivard, 
or   I   should  have  endeavored  to   dignify  the  subject  by 


406  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

an  attempt  to  celebrate  his  courage  and  his  virtues."     It 
is  a  pathetic  story,  with  some  beautiful  Unes :  — 

"  Lake  Leman  lies  by  Chillon's  walls : 
A  thousand  feet  in  depth  below 
Its  massy  waters  meet  and  flow ; 
Thus  much  the  fathom-line  was  sent 
From  Chillon's  snow-white  battlement, 
Which  round  about  the  wave  enthrals." 

From  Switzerland,  Byron  went  to  Italy,  living  for  a  time 
at  Venice,  Ravenna,  Pisa,  and  Genoa.  His  Italian  life  was 
voluptuous  and  immoral.  In  every  place  of  sojourn,  how- 
ever, he  continued  to  write,  composing  many  works  of  high 
excellence.  "Cain"  is  a  powerful  drama.  One  of  the 
characters  is  Lucifer,  of  whom  Byron  apologetically  says, 
"  It  was  difficult  for  me  to  make  him  talk  like  a  clergyman 
upon  the  same  subjects."  "Manfred"  and  "  Sardana- 
palus  "  are  other  dramas.  The  "Vision  of  Judgment,"  a 
satire  on  George  the  Third  and  "  Bob  Southey,"  is  not 
reverent,  but  it  is  the  wittiest  production  of  its  class  in  our 
language.  "  Don  Juan,"  his  longest  poem,  is  a  conglom- 
erate of  wit,  satire,  and  immorality,  relieved  at  intervals 
by  sage  reflection  and  delicate  poetic  sentiment.  It  shows 
at  once  the  author's  genius  and  degradation.  Perhaps  he 
never  wrote  more  beautiful  lines  than  these  :  — 

"  'Tis  sweet  to  hear. 

At  midnight  on  the  blue  and  moonlit  deep, 
The  song  and  oar  of  Adrians  gondolier, 

By  distance  mellowed  o'er  the  water's  sweep.. 
'Tis  sweet  to  see  the  evening  star  appear ; 

'Tis  sweet  to  listen  as  the  night-winds  creep 
From  leaf  to  leaf ;  'tis  sweet  to  view  on  high 
The  rainbow,  based  on  ocean,  span  the  sky. 


LORD  BYRON.  407 

"  'Tis  sweet  to  hear  the  watch-dog's  honest  bark 

Bay  deep-mouthed  welcome  as  we  draw  near  home ; 

'Tis  sweet  to  know  there  is  an  eye  will  mark 
Our  coming,  and  look  brighter  when  we  come. 

'Tis  sweet  to  be  awakened  by  the  lark, 

Or  lulled  by  falling  waters  ;  sweet  the  hum 

Of  bees,  the  voice  of  girls,  the  song  of  birds, 

The  lisp  of  children,  and  their  earliest  words." 

Notwithstanding  its  power  and  the  frequent  beauty  of 
single  passages,  Byron's  poetry  has  serious  defects.  The 
rapidity  with  which  he  wrote  prevented  a  high  degree  of 
artistic  finish.  Its  structure  and  rhyme  are  sometimes 
whimsical  or  perverse.  It  is  lacking  in  high  seriousness, 
without  which  poetry  never  reaches  the  greatest  heights. 
It  is,  indeed,  a  reflection  of  the  poet's  life,  and  to  that  ex- 
tent may  be  pronounced  true  ;  but  because  his  life  was 
perverse  and  wrong,  his  poetry  is  lacking  in  divine  truth. 
It  brings  no  helpful  message  to  humanity.  His  criticism 
of  life  is  destructive ;  he  never  reached  the  wisdom  that 
replaces  evil  with  good ;  and  in  view  of  these  facts,  he 
may  justly  be  said  to  belong  to  the  Satanic  school  of  letters. 
"  He  refreshes  us,"  to  use  the  words  of  Carlyle,  "  not  with 
the  divine  fountain,  but  too  often  with  vulgar  strong  waters, 
stimulating  indeed  to  the  taste,  but  soon  ending  in  dislike, 
or  even  nausea." 

Though  few  English  authors  were  ever  more  popular  at 
home,  Byron's  influence  on  the  Continent  was  still  greater. 
"  He  simply  took  possession  of  the  Continent  of  Europe 
and  kept  it,"  says  Saintsbury.  "He  was  one  of  the  dom- 
inant influences  and  determining  causes  of  the  French 
Romantic  movement ;  in  Germany,  though  the  failure  of 
literary  talents  and  activity  of  the  first  order  in  that  coun- 


408  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

try  early  in  this  century  made  his  school  less  important,  he 
had  great  power  over  Heine,  its  one  towering  genius ;  and 
he  was  almost  the  sole  master  of  young  Russia,  young 
Italy,  young  Spain,  in  poetry.  Nor,  though  his  active  and 
direct  influence  has  of  course  been  exhausted  by  time,  can 
his  reputation  on  the  Continent  be  said  ever  to  have  waned." 

At  length  the  aimless  and  voluptuous  life  he  was  lead- 
ing filled  him  with  satiety.  He  had  drained  the  cup  of 
pleasure  to  its  dregs  of  bitterness.  He  began  to  long  for 
a  life  of  action.  "  If  I  live  ten  years  longer,"  he  wrote  in 
1822,  "you  will  see  that  it  is  not  all  over  with  me. 
I  don't  mean  in  literature,  for  that  is  nothing  —  and  I  do 
not  think  it  was  my  vocation  ;  but  I  shall  do  something." 

Greece  was  at  this  time  struggling  for  independence 
from  Turkish  tyranny.  Byron  was  a  friend  of  liberty ; 
the  struggling  Greeks  touched  his  sympathies.  Accord- 
ingly, he  embarked  for  Greece  in  1823  to  aid  them  in  their 
struggle.  As  he  was  about  to  depart,  the  shadow  of  com- 
ing disaster  fell  upon  him.  "  I  have  a  sort  of  boding,"  he 
said  to  some  friends,  "that  we  see  each  other  for  the  last 
time,  as  something  tells  me  I  shall  never  return  from 
Greece." 

He  was  received  at  Missolonghi  with  salvos  of  mus- 
ketry and  music.  He  received  a  military  commission,  and 
in  his  subsequent  movements  displayed  ability  and  cour- 
age. But  before  he  had  been  of  much  assistance  to  the 
Greeks,  he  was  seized  with  a  virulent  fever,  and  died  April 
9,  1824.  The  cities  of  Greece  contended  for  his  body; 
but  it  was  taken  to  England,  where,  sepulture  in  West- 
minster Abbey  having  been  refused,  it  was  conveyed  to 
the  village  church  of  Hucknall. 


LORD   BYRON.  409 

Such  lives  are  unutterably  sad.     Byron  possessed  what 

most  men  spend  their  lives   for  in   vain  —  genius,   rank, 

power,  fame ;  yet  he  lived   a  wretched  man.      His  peace 

of  mind  was  broken,  and  his  body  prematurely  worn  by 

vicious  passions.     He  was  himself  oppressed  with  a  sense 

of  failure ;  and  less  than  three  months  before  his  death  he 

wrote :  — 

"  My  days  are  in  the  yellow  leaf  ; 

The  flowers  and  fruits  of  love  are  gone  ; 

The  worm,  the  canker,  and  the  grief, 

Are  mine  alone  !  " 

Life  had  lost  its  charm ;  and  all  he  sought  was  a  mar- 
tial death  in  that  land  of  ancient  heroes :  — 

"  Seek  out,  less  often  sought  than  found, 
A  soldier's  grave  —  for  thee  the  best; 
Then  look  around,  and  choose  thy  ground, 
And  take  thy  rest." 


4IO  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


117^  ~    I  ^^^ 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 

In  striking  contrast  with  the  restless,  passionate  life  of 
Byron  stands  the  peaceful,  uneventful  life  of  Wordsworth. 
Instead  of  furious,  tormenting  passions,  there  is  a  self- 
poised,  peaceful  life  of  contemplation.  Byron  imparted  to 
the  beautiful  or  sublime  scenes  of  nature  the  colorings 
of  his  turbulent  thoughts  and  violent  emotions ;  Words- 
worth brought  to  mountain,  stream,  and  flower  the  docility 
of  a  reverent  and  loving  spirit.  His  soul  was  open  to  the 
lessons  of  the  outward  world,  which  to  him  was  pervaded 
by  an  invisible  presence.  In  his  pride  and  misanthropy, 
Byron  felt  no  sympathy  with  the  sufferings  and  struggles 
of  humanity.  His  censorious  eye  perceived  only  the  foi- 
bles and  frailties  that  lie  on  the  surface.  With  a  far  no- 
bier  spirit  and  a  keener  insight,  Wordsworth  discerned 
beauty  and  grandeur  in  human  life  and  aspired  to  be 
helpful  to  his  fellow-men.  "  It  is  indeed  a  deep  satisfac- 
tion," he  wrote  near  the  close  of  his  life,  "  to  hope  and  be- 
lieve that  my  poetry  will  be,  while  it  lasts,  a  help  to  the 
cause  of  virtue  and  truth,  especially  among  the  young." 
While  Byron  trampled  on  the  laws  of  morality,  ruined  his 
home  and  turned  the  joys  of  life  to  ashes,  Wordsworth 
lived  in  the  midst  of  quiet  domestic  happiness  —  humble 
indeed,  but  glorified  by  fidelity,  friendship,  and  love. 
Byron  died  in  early  manhood  enslaved  by  evil  habits  and 


Engraved  by  J.  Boiiibi-y  alter  tlie  painting  by  W.  IldMilI,  I.oiicluu.     Published  1S.32. 


-^^^^u-Tn^ 


^ 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH.  4I I 

oppressed  with  the  emptiness  of  Hfe  ;  Wordsworth  reached 
an  honored  old  age,  and  passed  away  upheld  with  pre- 
cious hopes.  The  one  may  be  admired  for  his  power  and 
meteoric  splendor ;  the  other  will  be  honored  and  loved 
for  his  upright  character,  his  human  sympathy,  and  his 
helpful  teachings. 

William  Wordsworth  was  born  at  Cockermouth  in  Cum- 
berland County,  April  7,  1770,  of  an  ancient  family.  His 
violent  and  moody  temper  as  a  child  filled  his  mother  with 
anxiety  about  his  future.  He  in  no  way  distinguished 
himself  at  school,  though  some  of  the  verses  he  then  com- 
posed were  well  spoken  of. 

At  the  age  of  seventeen  he  entered  Cambridge,  where 
he  gave  no  promise  of  his  future  greatness.  His  genius 
developed  slowly.  It  was  not  from  books,  but  from  na- 
ture, that  he  derived  the  greatest  inspiration  and  help. 
The  celebrated  Lake  District,  in  which  he  was  born  and 
in  which  his  school-days  and  the  greater  part  of  his 
maturity  were  spent,  is  a  region  of  varied  and  beautiful 
scenery.  With  its  mountains,  forests,  and  lakes,  it  is 
grander  than  the  typical  English  landscape,  yet  without 
the  overpowering  sublimity  of  Switzerland.  It  was  a  re- 
gion specially  suited  to  awaken  and  develop  the  peculiar 
powers  of  Wordsworth.  He  moved  among  the  natural 
beauties  of  the  country  with  an  ill-defined  but  exquisite 
pleasure.     In  his  own  words  :  — 

"  The  ever-living  universe, 
Turn  where  I  might,  was  opening  out  its  glories ; 
And  the  independent  spirit  of  pure  youth 
Called  forth  at  every  season  new  delights. 
Spread  round  my  steps  like  sunshine  o'er  green  fields." 


412  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

In  1 79 1  Wordsworth  took  the  degree  of  Bachelor  of 
Arts,  and  left  the  university  without  having  decided  upon 
a  vocation.  "  He  did  not  feel  himself  good  enough  for 
the  church,"  he  said  years  afterward ;  "  he  felt  that  his 
mind  was  not  properly  disciplined  for  that  holy  office,  and 
that  the  struggle  between  his  conscience  and  his  impulses 
would  have  made  life  a  torture."  He  was  disinclined  to 
the  law ;  and  though  he  fancied  that  he  had  talents  for 
the  profession  of  arms,  he  feared  that  he  might  fall  a  prey 
to  disease  in  foreign  lands.  He  passed  some  time  in 
London  without  a  definite  aim  and  also  without  much 
profit.  He  felt  out  of  place  amidst  the  rush  and  din  of 
the  city.  Like  the  "  Farmer  of  Tilsbury  Vale,"  whom  he 
afterward  described :  — 

"In  the  throng  of  the  town  Hke  a  stranger  is  he, 
Like  one  whose  own  country's  far  over  the  sea ; 
And  nature,  while  through  tlie  great  city  he  hies, 
Full  ten  times  a  day  takes  his  heart  by  surprise." 

After  a  few  months  he  went  to  France  for  the  purpose 
of  learning  the  language.  His  sympathies,  which  had 
been  with  the  revolutionists,  were  intensified  by  an 
acquaintance  at  Orleans  with  the  republican  general 
Beaupuis.  Returning  to  Paris,  Wordsworth  contemplated 
placing  himself  at  the  head  of  the  Girondist  party  —  a 
step  that  would  inevitably  have  brought  him  to  the  guil- 
lotine. From  this  danger  he  was  saved  by  his  friends, 
who,  not  in  sympathy  with  his  republicanism,  stopped  his 
allowance,  and  thus  compelled  him  to  return  to  England. 
The  excesses  into  which  the  Revolution  ran  were  a  rude 
shock  to  him.     He  was  driven  to  the  verge  of  scepticism  :  — 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH.  413 

"  Even  the  visible  universe 
Fell  under  the  dominion  of  a  taste 
Less  spiritual,  with  microscopic  view 
Was  scanned,  as  I  had  scanned  the  moral  world." 

But  his  thoughtful  nature  could  not  rest  in  unbelief.  A 
sympathetic  study  of  nature,  the  beautiful  devotion  of  his 
sister  Dorothy,  and  a  deeper  insight  into  the  lives  of  men, 
restored  his  healthfulness  and  peace  of  mind.  As  he 
advanced  in  years,  he  gave  up  the  ardent  republican  hopes 
of  his  youth,  and  settled  down  into  a  staid  conservatism. 

There  are  few  lives  that  might  better  serve  to  illustrate 
the  doctrine  of  a  special  providence.  All  through  his 
career,  the  needed  help  came  to  him  at  the  right  moment. 
Wordsworth  had  nursed  with  tender  care  a  young  man 
attacked  by  consumption.  Upon  his  death  it  was  found 
that  he  had  left  the  poet  a  legacy  of  nine  hundred  pounds. 
Nothing  could  have  come  more  opportunely.  With  this 
small  sum  Wordsworth  settled  with  his  sister  in  a  little 
cottage  at  Racedown  in  Dorsetshire.  Here  be  began  to 
devote  himself  to  poetry  in  earnest.  In  his  sister  he 
found  a  congenial  and  helpful  companion.  She  filled  his 
home  with  sunshine.  Her  poetic  sensibilities  were  keenly 
alive  to  the  beauties  of  nature.  In  grateful  recognition 
of  her  helpfulness,  the  poet  says  :  — 

"  She  gave  me  eyes,  she  gave  me  ears, 
And  humble  cares,  and  delicate  fears ; 
A  heart  the  fountain  of  sweet  tears  ; 
And  love,  and  thought,  and  joy." 

With  a  beautiful  devotion  she  found  her  life-work  in 
aiding  her  gifted  brother  to  fulfil  his  mission. 

The  first   volume  of  Wordsworth   is   entitled  "  Lyrical 


414  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Ballads."  It  was  published  in  1798,  and  contained,  be- 
sides Coleridge's  "  Ancient  Mariner,"  and  several  pieces 
that  were  ridiculed  for  triviality,  "  We  Are  Seven,"  "  Ex- 
postulation and  Reply,"  "The  Tables  Turned,"  and  above 
all  "  Tintern  Abbey,"  all  of  which  contain  the  essential 
principles  of  Wordsworth's  poetry.  Indeed,  the  "  Tintern 
Abbey"  more  than  any  other  single  poem  contains  the 
revelation  that  the  poet  had  to  make  to  the  world.  The 
following  passage,  besides  presenting  the  poet's  view  of 
nature,  is  one  of  great  beauty  :  — 

"  And  I  have  felt 
A  presence  that  disturbs  me  with  the  joy 
Of  elevated  thoughts  :  a  sense  sublime 
Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused, 
Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns, 
And  the  round  ocean  and  the  living  air 
And  the  blue  sky,  and  in  the  mind  of  man : 
A  motion  and  a  spirit,  that  impels 

All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought,  > 

And  rolls  through  all  things." 

Unfortunately  the  trivial  pieces  attracted  most  attention, 
and  the  work  was  received  with  coldness  and  ridicule. 
"The  Idiot  Boy" — a  delightful  poem  to  those  who  can  feel 
the  pathos  of  childish  imbecility  and  the  beauty  of  maternal 
love  and  solicitude  —  was  the  subject  of  one  of  the  cruelest 
passages  in  the  "  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers." 
Speaking  of  Wordsworth,  whom  he  denominates  "  a  mild 
apostate  from  poetic  rule,"  Byron  continues  :  — 

"  Thus  when  he  tells  the  tale  of  Betty  Foy, 
The  idiot  mother  of  an  idiot  boy, 
A  moon-struck  silly  lad  who  lost  his  way, 
And  like  his  bard  confounded  night  with  day, 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH.  415 

So  close  on  each  pathetic  part  he  dwells, 
And  each  adventure  so  sublimely  tells, 
That  all  who  view  the  idiot  in  his  glory, 
Conceive  the  bard  the  hero  of  the  story." 

Immediately  after  the  publication  of  the  "  Lyrical  Bal- 
lads "  Wordsworth  and  his  sister  went  to  Germany  in  order 
to  improve  their  imperfect  acquaintance  with  the  German 
language.  They  passed  the  winter  at  Goslar  ;  but  as  they 
seem  to  have  made  no  acquaintances,  their  means  of  advance- 
ment was  confined  to  reading  German  books  privately. 

The  winter  was  severe,  and  their  comforts  were  few. 
Wordsworth  says :  "  I  slept  in  a  room  over  a  passage  that 
was  not  ceiled.  The  people  of  the  house  used  to  say, 
rather  unfeelingly,  that  they  expected  that  I  should  be 
frozen  to  death  some  night."  Notwithstanding  these  dis- 
comforts, his  muse  was  active,  and  he  produced  some  of 
his  most  charming  and  characteristic  pieces,  among  which 
are  "Lucy  Gray,"  "Ruth,"  "Nutting,"  and  the  "Poet's 
Epitaph."  It  was  here,  too,  that  "  The  Prelude,"  the  poeti- 
cal autobiography  of  the  author's  mental  growth,  was 
begun.  "  'The  Prelude,'"  says  a  biographer,  "  is  a  book  of 
good  augury  for  human  nature.  We  feel  in  reading  it  as 
if  the  stock  of  mankind  were  sound.  The  soul  seems 
going  on  from  strength  to  strength  by  the  mere  develop- 
ment of  her  inborn  power." 

"  The  Prelude "  throws  much  light  on  Wordsworth's 
intellectual  development  and  his  poetic  characteristics. 
It  shows  us  that  from  childhood  nature  had  a  peculiar  fas- 
cination for  him.  Its  varied  scenes  of  beauty,  majesty, 
and  power  left  a  deep  impression  on  his  sensitive  nature. 
At  the  age  of  ten,  he  tells  us :  — 


41 6  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

"  Even  then 
I  held  unconscious  intercourse  with  beauty 
Old  as  creation,  drinking  in  a  pure 
Organic  pleasure  from  the  silver  wreaths 
Of  curling  mist,  or  from  the  level  plain 
Of  waters  colored  by  impending  clouds." 

But,  at  the  same  time,  the  beautiful  pastoral  life  he  be- 
held among  his  native  hills  and  dales  taught  him  to  love 

man  also :  — 

"  Thus  was  man 

Ennobled  outwardly  before  my  sight, 

And  thus  my  heart  was  early  introduced 

To  an  unconscious  love  and  reverence 

Of  human  nature  ;  hence  the  human  form 

To  me  became  the  index  of  delight. 

Of  grace  and  honor,  power  and  worthiness." 

Wordsworth  returned  to  England  in  1799  and  settled  at 
Grasmere  in  the  Lake  District,  in  which  he  spent  the  rest 
of  his  life.  The  following  year  he  published  a  new  edition 
of  the  "  Lyrical  Ballads,"  containing  many  new  pieces  and 
the  famous  preface  in  which  he  laid  down  his  poetical 
canons.  These  canons  may  be  briefly  stated  as  followsj, 
I.  Subjects  are  to  be  taken  from  rustic  or  common  life, 
"because  in  that  condition  the  essential  passions  of  the 
[  heart  find  a  better  soil  in  which  they  can  attain  their 
maturity,  are  less  under  restraint,  and  speak  plainer  and 
more  emphatic  language."  2.  The  language  of  common 
life,  purified  from  its  defects,  is  to  be  adopted,  because  men 
of  that  station  "  hourly  communicate  with  the  best  objects 
from  which  the  best  part  of  language  is  originally  derived; 
I  and  because,  .  .  .  being  less  under  the  action  of  social 
;  vanity,  they  convey  their  feelings  and  notions  in  simple 


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WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH.  417 

and  unelaborated  expressions."     3.    "There  neither  is  nor 
can  be  any  essential  difference  between  the  language  of 

prose  and  metrical  composition."  — 

The  most,  perhaps,  that  can  be  said  in  favor  of  these 
principles  is  that,  without  being  absolutely  true,  they  con- 
tain elements  of  truth.  Like  Burns,  Wordsworth  has  con- 
ferred a  blessing  on  humanity  in  pointing  out  the  beauty 
of  commonplace  objects  and  incidents.  We  cannot  spare 
"We  Are  Seven,"  or  "Michael,"  which  ought  to  be  one 
of  our  most  popular  poems.  His  naturalness  of  diction  is 
to  be  commended.  Yet  it  must  be  said  that  Wordsworth 
sometimes  carries  his  principles  to  a  ridiculous  extent. 
When  he  hits  upon  phrases  Hke  "  dear  brother  Jim,"  and 
.  objects  like  "skimmed  milk"  and  — 

"  A  household  tub,  like  one  of  those 
Which  women  use  to  wash  their  clothes," 

his  greatest  admirers  are  forced  to  grieve. 

Wordsworth's  hfe  in  the  Lake  District  was  character- 
ized by  great  simplicity.  There  were  no  stirring  events, 
no  great  changes.  His  resources  were  increased  by  the 
payment  of  an  old  debt  due  his  father's  estate.  His  mar- 
riage, in  1802,  to  Miss  Mary  Hutchinson,  brought  into  his 
home  a  real  helpmate.  Though  decidedly  domestic  in  her 
turn,  she  was  not  without  poetic  feeling  and  appreciated 
her  husband's  genius.  The  poet  paid  her  this  glowing 
tribute  :  — 

"A  being  breathing  thoughtful  breath, 

A  traveller  between  life  and  death  ; 

The  reason  firm,  the  temperate  will. 

Endurance,  foresight,  strength,  and  skill ; 

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41 8  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

A  perfect  woman  nobly  planned, 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command ; 
And  yet  a  spirit  still,  and  bright 
With  something  of  angelic  light." 

With  true  feminine  tact  she  presided  over  the  poet's 
home,  and  softened  as  far  as  possible  the  unconscious  ego- 
tism into  which  his  retirement  and  contemplation  had  be- 
trayed him.  Dorothy  Wordsworth  shared  their  home. 
The  life  of  this  happy  family  was  an  illustration  of  "  plain 
living  and  high  thinking."  Much  time  was  spent  in  the 
open  air,  and  every  foot  of  ground  in  the  neighborhood 
was  traversed  by  the  poet  and  his  sister.  A  large  part 
of  his  verse  was  composed  during  these  daily  rambles. 
While  extending  a  cordial  welcome  to  congenial  friends, — 
De  Quincey,  Coleridge,  Wilson,  Southey,  and  others,  —  he 
cared  little  for  neighborhood  gossip.  To  him  it  was  a  fruit- 
less waste  of  time.  As  he  tells  us  in  the  sonnets  entitled 
"  Personal  Talk  "  :  — 

"  Better  than  such  discourse  doth  silence  long. 
Long,  barren  silence,  square  with  my  desire ; 
To  sit  without  emotion,  hope,  or  aim. 
In  the  loved  presence  of  my  cottage  fire, 
And  listen  to  the  flapping  of  the  flame, 
Or  kettle  whispering  its  faint  undersong." 

This  quiet,  humble,  reflective  life  is  beautiful ;  yet  it  has 
its  objectionable  features.  It  leads  to  narrow  and  one- 
sided views  of  life.  It  is  not  the  way  in  which  to  develop 
a  strong  or  heroic  character.  Yet  it  was  adapted  to 
Wordsworth's  genius  and  produced  a  rich  fruitage. 

The  first  great  sorrow  that  came  into  the  poet's  life  was 
the  death  of  his  brother  John,  captain  of  an  East  Indiaman. 


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His  vessel  was  wrecked  in  1805  and  sank  with  the  cap- 
tain at  his  post  of  duty.  He  had  several  years  previously 
spent  a  few  months  at  Grasmere,  and  was  looking  for- 
ward to  the  time  when  he  might  settle  there  for  life. 

A  strong  attachment  existed  between  him  and  his 
brother.  It  was  but  natural,  therefore,  that  the  poet  should 
write  :  "  For  myself,  I  feel  that  there  is  something  cut 
out  of  my  Hfe  Which  cannot  be  restored.  I  never  thought 
of  him  but  with  hope  and  delight.  We  looked  forward  to 
the  time,  not  distant,  as  we  thought,  when  he  would  settle 
near  us  —  when  the  task  of  his  life  would  be  over,  and  he 
would  have  nothing  to  do  but  reap  his  reward.  ...  I 
never  wrote  a  line  without  the  thought  of  giving  him 
pleasure ;  my  writings,  printed  and  manuscript,  were  his 
delight,  and  one  of  the  chief  solaces  of  his  long  voyages." 
The  same  year  saw  the  death  of  Nelson  at  Trafalgar. 
The  death  of  the  hero  brought  grief  to  the  national  heart. 
Combining  the  traits  of  his  brother  John  and  Admiral 
Nelson,  Wordsworth  composed  "  The  Happy  Warrior,"  a 
poem  of  great  dignity  and  weight  —  a  veritable  manual  of 
greatness.     Who  is  the  happy  warrior  .-*     He  who  owes,  — 

"  To  virtue  every  triumph  that  he  knows  ; 
Who,  if  he  rise  to  station  of  command, 
Rises  by  open  means ;  and  there  will  stand 
On  honorable  terms,  or  else  retire, 
And  in  himself  possess  his  own  desire  ; 
Who  comprehends  his  trust,  and  to  the  same 
Keeps  faithful  with  a  singleness  of  aim  ; 
And  therefore  does  not  stoop  nor  lie  in  wait 
For  wealth,  or  honors,  or  for  worldly  state ; 
Whom  they  must  follow,  on  whose  head  must  fall, 
Like  showers  of  manna,  if  they  come  at  all." 


420  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Every  year  increased    the   number   of    notable   poems. 

There  are  two  or  three  that  deserve  especial  mention  as 

embodying  peculiar  views — to  some  extent  Wordsworth's 

philosophy  of  life.     In  a  little  poem  called  "  The  Rainbow," 

he  says  :  — 

"  My  heart  leaps  up  when  I  behold 

A  rainbow  in  the  sky  : 
So  was  it  when  my  life  began ; 
So  is  it  now  I  am  a  man ; 
So  be  it  when  I  shall  grow  old, 

Or  let  me  die  ! 
The  child  is  father  of  the  man  ; 
And  I  could  wish  my  days  to  be 
Bound  each  to  each  by  natural  piety." 

Far  more  is  here  expressed  than  appears  at  first  reading. 
"  Wordsworth  holds,"  to  adopt  the  excellent  interpretation 
by  Myers,  "that  the  instincts  and  pleasures  of  a  healthy 
childhood  sufficiently  indicate  the  lines  on  which  our 
maturer  character  should  be  formed.  The  joy  which  be- 
gan in  the  mere  sense  of  existence  should  be  maintained 
by  hopeful  faith ;  the  simplicity  which  began  in  inex- 
perience should  be  recovered  by  meditation ;  the  love 
which  originated  in  the  family  circle  should  expand  itself 
over  the  race  of  men."  In  the  "  Ode  to  Duty,"  one  of 
Wordsworth's  noblest  productions,  we  meet  with  this 
"genial  sense  of  youth":  — 

"  Serene  will  be  our  days  and  bright, 

And  happy  will  our  nature  be, 
When  love  is  an  unerring  light, 
And  joy  its  own  security." 

In  the  "Ode  on  Immortality,"  in  which  we  have  per- 
haps the  highest  attainment  of  poetry  in  this  century,  he 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH.  42 1 

makes  use  of  the  Platonic  doctrine  of  the  preexistence  of 
the  soul  to  account  for  the  glory  that  hovers  over  the  visible 
world  in  childhood.  As  a  child  looks  upon  the  various  ob- 
jects of  earth  and  sky,  he  unconsciously  invests  them,  the 
poet  says,  with  the  splendor  of  the  spiritual  world  from 
which  he  has  come.  But  as  life  advances,  these  recollec- 
tions of  a  previous  existence  become  fainter  and  fainter, 
and  at  last  the  world  degenerates  into  a  commonplace 
reality.     Now  read  these  splendid  lines  :  — 

"  Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting : 
The  soul  that  rises  with  us,  our  life's  star, 

Hath  had  elsewhere  its  setting, 
And  Cometh  from  afar : 

Not  in  entire  forgetfulness, 

And  not  in  utter  nakedness, 
But  trailing  clouds  of  glory  do  we  come 

From  God,  who  is  our  home : 
Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy  ! 
Shades  of  the  prison  house  begin  to  close 

Upon  the  growing  boy. 
But  he  beholds  the  light  and  whence  it  flows, 

He  sees  it  in  his  joy  ; 
The  youth,  who  daily  further  from  the  east 

Must  travel,  still  is  nature's  priest, 

And  by  the  vision  splendid 

Is  on  his  way  attended  ; 
At  length  the  man  perceives  it  die  away. 
And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day." 

In  18 1 3  Wordsworth  removed  to  Rydal  Mount,  where 
he  spent  the  rest  of  his  life.  With  increasing  family  — 
three  sons  and  two  daughters  had  been  born  unto  him  — 
came  increasing  wants  and  expenditures.     His  good  for- 


422  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

tune  did  not  desert  him.  He  was  appointed  distributer  of 
stamps  for  the  county  of  Westmoreland  —  an  office  that 
brought  him  little  labor,  but  five  hundred  pounds  a  year. 

The  following  year  he  published  "The  Excursion,"  a 
tedious  and  prosaic  poem  relieved  here  and  there  with 
passages  of  surpassing  beauty.  It  was  coldly  received, 
and  proved  a  financial  loss.  Jeffrey  began  a  famous  review 
with  the  contemptuous  sentence,  "This  will  never  do." 
Up  to  this  time  Wordsworth  had  been  the  subject  of  con- 
tinuously unfavorable  criticism.  No  other  writer,  per- 
haps, ever  had  so  protracted  a  struggle  to  gain  a  proper 
recognition. 

But  through  all  this  long  period  of  misrepresentation 
and  detraction,  Wordsworth  did  not  lose  confidence  in  him- 
self. His  genius  was  its  own  sufficient  witness.  He  felt  a 
pity  for  the  ignorance  of  the  world,  but  looked  forward  to 
a  time  when  the  merits  of  his  poetry  would  be  recognized. 
Writing  to  a  friend,  he  says :  "  Let  me  confine  myself  to 
my  object,  which  is  to  make  you,  my  dear  friend,  as  easy 
hearted  as  myself  with  respect  to  these  poems.  Trouble 
not  yourself  upon  their  present  reception.  Of  what  mo- 
ment is  that  compared  with  what  I  trust  is  their  destiny .-'  — 
to  console  the  afflicted;  to  add  sunshine  to  daylight,  by 
making  the  happy  happier ;  to  teach  the  young  and  the 
gracious  of  every  age  to  see,  to  think  and  feel,  and  there- 
fore to  become  more  actively  and  securely  virtuous  ;  this  is 
their  office,  which  I  trust  they  will  faithfully  perform  long 
after  we  (that  is,  all  that  is  mortal  of  us)  are  mouldered  in 
our  graves."  What  in  many  a  man  would  savor  of  egotism 
comes  from  the  lips  of  Wordsworth  with  the  calm  dignity 
of  conscious  strength. 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH.  423 

His  hopes  were  not  disappointed.  The  latter  years  of 
his  life'brought  him  great  popularity  and  honor.  In  1839 
the  University  of  Oxford  conferred  upon  him  the  degree  of 
Doctor  of  Civil  Law ;  three  years  later  the  government 
granted  him  a  pension  of  three  hundred  pounds  ;  and  upon 
the  death  of  Southey  he  became  poet  laureate.  His  pure 
and  peaceful  life  came  to  an  end  April  23,  1850.  "And 
surely  of  him,  if  of  any  one,  we  may  think  as  of  a  man  who 
was  so  in  accord  with  nature,  so  at  one  with  the  very  soul 
of  things,  that  there  can  be  no  mansion  of  the  universe 
which  shall  not  be  to  him  a  home,  no  Governor  who  will 
not  accept  him  among  his  servants,  and  satisfy  him  with 
love  and  peace." 

Wordsworth's  mind  was  evenly  balanced;  thought,  im- 
agination, and  conscience  all  worked  together  in  harmony. 
This  fact  gave  sanity  not  only  to  his  life,  but  also  to  his 
poetry.  His  was  not,  as  some  persons  have  supposed,  a 
mild,  gentle  nature  without  energy.  He  had  a  strong  will 
and  deep  feelings ;  but  through  stern  self -discipline,  he 
had  brought  them  under  rational  control.  The  power  of 
his  intellectual  and  emotional  nature  is  shown  in  number- 
less passages,  in  which  he  reaches  the  sublimest  heights 
of  poetry  —  regions  far  beyond  the  attainment  of  any  but 
mighty  spirits.  There  is  much  that  is  commonplace  in  his 
poetry  — great  tracts  of  dulncss  ;  but  in  his  moments  of 
fully  aroused  imaginative  energy,  he  is  unsurpassed,  per- 
haps, by  any  other  English  poet  except  Shakespeare. 

Like  other  lovers  of  nature,  Wordsworth  had  a  keen 
eye  and  ear  for  its  beauties.  His  observations  are  minute 
and  accurate.  Forms,  colors,  sounds,  are  all  vividly  caught 
and  reproduced  in  his  poetry.     To  take  but  a  single  illus- 


424  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

tration,  we  read  in  "  A  Night-Piece,"  dating  from  1798,  the 
following :  — 

*•'  The  traveller  looks  up  —  the  clouds  are  split 
Asunder,  —  and  above  his  head  he  sees 
The  clear  moon,  and  the  glory  of  the  heavens. 
There,  in  a  black-blue  vault  she  sails  along. 
Followed  by  multitudes  of  stars,  that,  small 
And  sharp,  and  bright,  along  the  dark  abyss 
Drive  as  she  drives  ;  how  fast  they  wheel  away, 
Yet  vanish  not  !  —  the  Avind  is  in  the  tree, 
But  they  are  silent ;  —  still  they  roll  along 
Immeasurably  distant ;  and  the  vault 
Built  round  by  those  white  clouds,  enormous  clouds." 

But  Wordsworth  was  more  than  a  mere  observer.  He 
was  not  satisfied  to  report  the  outward  appearance  of 
things,  as  were  Scott  and,  in  a  large  measure,  Byron.  He 
looked  upon  nature  as  interpenetrated  by  a  divine,  con- 
scious spirit  that  could  speak  to  his  soul.  Beneath  the 
outward  beauties  of  the  world  he  tried  to  catch  its  spirit- 
ual message.  To  him  nature  was  a  great  teacher,  sur- 
passing the  storehouses  of  human  wisdom  :  — 

"  Books!  'tis  a  dull  and  endless  strife  ; 
Come,  hear  the  woodland  hnnet, 
How  sweet  his  music!  on  my  life. 
There's  more  of  wisdom  in  it. 

"  And  hark  !  how  blithe  the  throstle  sings  ! 
He,  too,  is  no  mean  preacher  : 
Come  forth  into  the  light  of  things. 
Let  Nature  be  your  teacher. 

"  One  impulse  from  a  vernal  wood 
May  teach  you  more  of  man, 
Of  moral  evil  and  of  good. 
Than  all  the  sages  can." 


Affti  42.    Engraved  By  Samuel  Cousins,  A.R.A.,  ffter  fhe  naintin"  by  Waslvjngton  Allston,  from 
the  original  picture  in  possession  of  George  L.  Barnard,  Ksq.,  London.    Published  1S54. 


^      y.        Cr^  JcZo^-C/ 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE.  425 


SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLERIDGE. 

The  influence  of  Coleridge  was  surprising.  Though  his 
works  are  singularly  fragmentary,  he  stands  out  as  a  prom- 
inent figure  among  his  great  contemporaries.  His  in- 
fluence seems  due  chiefly  to  his  originality,  his  magnetic 
personal  presence,  and  the  stimulating  quality  of  his  intel- 
lectual activity.  He  invented  new  forms  of  poetry,  to 
which  Scott  acknowledged  himself  indebted ;  and  he  in- 
troduced German  metaphysics,  which  was  not  without 
effect  on  Wordsworth  and  many  subsequent  writers.  His 
strong,  restless  intellect,  while  deficient  in  executive  power, 
was  constantly  blazing  new  paths  for  others.  He  pos- 
sessed, in  extraordinary  degree,  the  mental  endowment 
which  we  denominate  genius. 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  was  born  in  Devonshire, 
Oct.  21,  1772,  the  youngest  of  a  family  of  ten  children. 
His  mother,  though  a  woman  of  strong  sense,  was  not 
without  her  prejudices.  She  bade  her  sons  beware  of  what 
she  called  "harpsichord  ladies."  His  father  was  vicar  of 
Ottery  St.  Mary  and  head-master  of  the  free  grammar 
school  there.  He  was  a  scholar  of  some  attainments  and 
prepared  a  Latin  grammar,  in  which  he  proposed  to  clear 
up  the  obscurities  of  the  ablative  by  calling  it  the  "  quale- 
quare-quidditive  case."  He  was  accustomed  to  edify 
his  congregation  by  quotations  from  the  Hebrew,  which 
he    commended    to    their    attention    as    "the    immediate 


426  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

language  of  the  Holy  Ghost."  "  The  image  of  my  father," 
Coleridge  wrote  years  afterward,  "  my  revered,  kind, 
simple-hearted  father,  is  a  religion  to  me." 

Coleridge  was  educated  at  home  until  he  was  eight  years 
old.  His  imaginative  and  meditative  temper  led  observers 
to  regard  him  as  a  remarkable  child  and  to  predict  for 
him  no  ordinary  career.  At  the  age  of  ten  he  was  entered 
at  Christ's  Hospital,  where  poetry,  metaphysics,  and  theol- 
ogy engrossed  his  attention.  "  At  a  very  premature  age, 
even  before  my  fifteenth  year,"  he  tells  us  in  the  "  Bio- 
graphia  Literaria,"  "  I  had  bewildered  myself  in  metaphysics 
and  in  theological  controversy.  Nothing  else  pleased  me. 
History  and  particularly  facts  lost  all  interest  in  my  mind. 
Poetry  (though  for  a  schoolboy  of  that  age  I  was  above 
par  in  English  versification,  and  had  already  produced  two 
or  three  compositions  which  I  may  venture  to  say  were 
somewhat  above  mediocrity,  and  which  had  gained  me 
more  credit  than  the  sound  good  sense  of  my  old  master 
was  at  all  pleased  with) — poetry  itself,  yea,  novels  and 
romances,  became  insipid  to  me." 

It  is  to  this  period  that  Lamb's  well-known  description 
in  the  "  Essays  of  Elia  "  belongs.  "  Come  back  into  mem- 
ory," he  exclaims,  "  like  as  thou  wast  in  the  dayspring  of 
thy  fancies,  with  hope  like  a  fiery  column  before  thee  — 
the  dark  pillar  not  yet  turned  —  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge, 
logician,  metaphysician,  bard !  How  have  I  seen  the  cas- 
ual passer  through  the  cloisters  stand  still,  entranced  with 
admiration  (while  he  weighed  the  disproportion  between 
the  speech  and  the^^r^  of  the  young  Mirandula),  to  hear 
thee  unfold,  in  thy  deep  and  sweet  intonations,  the  mys- 
teries of  lamblichus  or  Plotinus  (for  even  in  those  years 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE.  427 

thou  waxedst  not  pale  at  such  philosophic  draughts),  or 
reciting  Homer  in  his  Greek,  or  Pindar,  while  the  walls  of 
the  old  Gray  Friars  reechoed  to  the  accents  of  the  inspired 
charity-boy  ! ' ' 

Under  the  master,  the  Rev.  James  Bowyer,  a  man  of 
severe  taste,  he  received  a  careful  training  in  composition 
and  literary  criticism.  No  mercy  was  shown  to  any  phrase 
or  metaphor  that  would  not  stand  the  test  of  sound  sense. 
Harp,  lyre,  muse,  Pegasus,  Parnassus,  —  words  so  dear  to 
many  a  schoolboy,  —  were  severely  dealt  with.  "  In 
fancy,"  says  Coleridge  as  he  writes  his  literary  memoirs, 
"  I  can  almost  hear  him  now,  exclaiming  '  Harp  ?  Harp  .? 
Lyre.'*  Pen  and  ink,  boy,  you  mean!  Muse,  boy.  Muse  .-• 
Your  nurse's  daughter,  you  mean  !  Pierian  spring  ?  Oh, 
aye  !  the  cloister-pump,  I  suppose  ! '  "  The  young  student 
was  taught  to  prefer  Demosthenes  to  Cicero,  Homer  to 
Virgil,  and  Virgil  to  Ovid.  His  attention  was  called  to  the 
exquisite  skill  with  which  the  great  poets  select  and  arrange 
their  words. 

In  1792  he  entered  Jesus  College,  Cambridge.  The 
records  of  his  college  life  are  meagre.  Within  a  few 
months  of  his  entrance  he  won  a  gold  medal  for  a  Greek 
ode  on  the  slave-trade  —  a  poem  of  which  he  himself 
afterward  said  that  "  the  ideas  were  better  than  the 
language  or  metre  in  which  they  were  conveyed."  His 
reading  was  extensive  and  miscellaneous.  He  took  a  keen 
interest  in  the  political  movements  of  the  day,  and  with 
his  leisurely  habits  and  splendid  conversational  gifts 
naturally  drew  a  crowd  of  admirers  around  him.  Accord- 
ing to  the  account  of  a  fellow-student,  "  He  was  ready  at 
any  time  to  unbend  his  mind  in  conversation,  and  for  the 


428  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

sake  of  this  his  room  was  a  constant  rendezvous  of  con- 
versation-loving friends." 

In  the  latter  part  of  1793  Coleridge  suddenly  left 
Cambridge  and  going  to  London  enlisted  in  the  Light 
Dragoons.  The  cause  of  this  singular  escapade,  whether 
disappointment  in  love  or  despondency  over  debts,  has  not 
been  made  plain.  He  was  utterly  unsuited  to  military 
service.  Apart  from  constitutional  awkwardness,  he  sadly 
lacked  physical  energy  —  a  lack  that  manifested  itself  par- 
ticularly in  a  strong  repugnance  to  caring  for  his  horse. 
Finally,  a  striking  Latin  sentence  which  he  wrote  on  the 
stable  wall  attracted  attention  to  his  scholarly  attainments, 
and  after  four  months  of  service  influential  friends  ob- 
tained his  discharge.  He  returned  to  the  university,  but 
left  it  in  a  few  months  without  taking  his  degree. 

In  1794  Coleridge  visited  Oxford,  where  he  met  Southey. 
This  was  the  beginning  of  a  lifelong  friendship.  The 
young  men  were  drawn  together  by  their  poetic  gifts  and 
political  sympathies.  Coleridge  communicated  his  newly 
formed  scheme  to  found  a  socialistic  community  on  the 
banks  of  the  Susquehanna  —  a  scheme  to  which  he  had 
given  the  novel  and  descriptive  name  of  Pantisocracy.  All 
property  was  to  be  held  in  common ;  each  member  was  to 
work  for  the  good  of  the  entire  community  ;  and  all  were 
to  have  an  equal  share  in  administering  the  government. 
Southey  greeted  the  Utopian  scheme  with  enthusiasm. 
Disappointed  by  the  cruel  excesses  of  the  French  Revolu- 
tion, from  which  both  young  men  had  expected  a  new  and 
better  social  order,  they  wished  to  show  their  faith  in  a 
pure  democracy,  and  with  this  pantisocratic  community  to 
mark  the  beginning  of  a  happier  age.     But  there  was  one 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERLDGE.  429 

difficulty  in  the  way  of  these  hopeful  young  men.  That 
was  money.  And  when  after  a  year's  effort  the  requisite 
means  were  not  forthcoming,  the  splendid  scheme  was 
reluctantly  abandoned. 

But  it  had  not  been  without  at  least  one  important  result 
for  Coleridge.  One  of  the  requirements  of  the  pantisocratic 
scheme  was  that  each  member  should  take  unto  himself  a 
gentle,  loving  woman  as  his  wife.  To  this  requirement 
Coleridge  had  responded  with  more  than  his  usual  prompt- 
ness. In  1795  he  married  Miss  Sarah  Fricker,  sister  to 
Southey's  betrothed,  and  at  last  added  another  to  the 
unfortunate  list  of  unhappy  marriages  in  the  history  of 
English  men  of  letters.  After  a  few  years  his  transcen- 
dental moods  refused  to  submit  to  the  yoke  of  common- 
place domestic  duties.  His  wife  was  perhaps  lacking  in 
appreciation  and  sympathy ;  but  his  dreamy,  shiftless 
ways,  which  often  left  the  family  without  bread,  imposed 
no  ordinary  strain  on  her  patience.  Unable  to  provide 
for  his  family,  Coleridge  finally  left  them  dependent  on 
Southey,  while  he  himself  led  an  unsettled,  precarious  life 
among  various  friends. 

In  1796  Coleridge  may  be  said  to  have  begun  his 
editorial  career  with  the  publication  of  The  Watclunan, 
a  periodical  appearing  every  eight  days  and  devoted  to 
"  truth  and  freedom."  The  editor  himself  made  a  tour  of 
northern  England  for  subscribers,  and  in  the  "  Biographia 
Literaria  "  has  left  us  a  humorous  and  delightful  account 
of  his  experiences.  At  Birmingham  he  was  introduced  to 
a  tallow-chandler,  upon  whom,  he  exhausted  all  the  mar- 
vellous resources  of  his  brain  and  tongue.  "I  argued,"  he 
says,  "  I  described,  I  promised,  I   prophesied ;  and  begin- 


430  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

ning  with  the  captivity  of  nations,  I  ended  with  the  near 
approach  of  the  millennium."  But  it  was  all  in  vain.  The 
hard  man  of  the  world  refused  to  be  persuaded  and  finally 
brought  the  interview  to  an  abrupt  termination.  "  I  am 
as  great  a  one,"  he  said,  "  as  any  man  in  Brummagem,  sir, 
for  liberty  and  truth  and  all  them  sort  of  things,  but  as  to 
this, — no  offence  I  hope,  sir,  —  I  must  beg  to  be  excused." 
Coleridge  had  no  talent  for  business ;  and  as  a  writer,  in 
the  interests  of  "liberty  and  truth,"  he  showed  a  sublime 
disregard  for  the  opinions  and  prejudices  of  his  patrons. 
As  a  natural  result,  The  Watchman,  after  a  career  more 
valiant  than  wise,  suspended  publication  at  the  end  of  two 
months.  More  than  a  dozen  years  later  he  estabhshed 
another  weekly  called  The  Friend,  which,  as  might  be 
supposed,  had  likewise  only  a  brief  existence. 

In  1797  Coleridge  published  at  Bristol  his  first  volume 
of  poetry.  A  second  edition,  enlarged  and  revised,  ap- 
peared the  following  year.  Though  this  volume  met  with 
an  encouraging  reception,  it  was  still  criticised  for  its 
general  turgidity  of  style.  The  poet  recognized  the  jus- 
tice of  this  criticism  and  frankly  confessed  that  in  the 
second  edition  he  used  his  "  best  efforts  to  tame  the  swell 
and  glitter  both  of  thought  and  diction."  He  wrote  from 
the  necessity  of  an  inner  impulse  and  expected  neither 
profit  nor  fame.  "Poetry  has  been  to  me,"  he  says,  "its 
own  '  exceeding  great  reward ' ;  it  has  soothed  my  afflic- 
tion ;  it  has  multiplied  and  refined  my  enjoyments ;  it  has 
endeared  solitude ;  and  it  has  given  me  the  habit  of  wish- 
ing to  discover  the  good  an^  the  beautiful  in  all  that  meets 
and  surrounds  me." 

The  poems  in  this  volume,  which  hardly  contains  any- 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE.  43 1 

thing  preeminent,  reveal  to  us  something  of  the  power 
and  spirit  of  Coleridge.  He  is  master  of  lofty  thought, 
fervid  feeling,  and  splendid  expression.  Many  of  the 
poems,  juvenile  in  character,  do  not  rise  above  the  com- 
monplace ;  but  the  best  of  them  move  on  a  lofty  plane 
and  have  a  deep,  majestic  music.  Sincere  in  thought  and 
purpose,  they  give  us  glimpses  into  the  poet's  life  and  re- 
veal to  us  his  political  convictions  and  religious  beliefs. 
In  the  "^olian  Harp  "  he  shows  us  something  of  the  tran- 
scendental   spirit,   which    is  frequently    met   with    in    his 

poetry  :  — 

"  And  what  if  all  of  animated  nature 
Be  but  organic  harps  diversely  framed, 
That  tremble  into  thought  as  o"er  them  sweeps, 
Plastic  and  vast,  one  intellectual  breeze. 
At  once  the  soul  of  each,  and  God  of  all  ? " 

After  his  marriage  Coleridge  retired  to  Clevedon  on  the 
Bristol  Channel,  where  he  spent  a  protracted  honeymoon. 
In  his  "Reflections  on  Leaving  a  Place  of  Retirement" 
he  has  given  us  a  description  of  the  pretty  cottage  he 
occupied  there,  in  which  he  passed  what  were  probably 
the  happiest  months  of  his  life :  — 

"  Low  was  our  pretty  cot !  our  tallest  rose 
Peeped  at  the  chamber-window.     We  could  hear 
At  silent  noon,  and  eve,  and  early  morn. 
The  sea\s  faint  murmur.     In  the  open  air 
Our  myrtles  blossomed ;  and  across  the  porch 
Thick  jasmines  twined  ;  the  little  landscape  round 
Was  green  and  woody,  and  refreshed  the  eye.'' 

"  Religious  Musings  "  is  a  majestic  poem  on  religion 
and   politics.     "  The    Destiny   of   Nations,"  besides  some 


432  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

eloquent   passages,    contains    a    noteworthy    definition   of 
freedom  :  — 

"  For  what  is  freedom,  but  the  unfettered  use 
Of  all  the  powers  which  God  for  use  had  given?" 

In  the  "Ode  to  France,"  which  Shelley  pronounced  the 
finest  in  the  English  language,  the  poet  tells,  with  great 
fervor  of  emotion,  — 

"  With  what  deep  worship  he  has  still  adored 
The  spirit  of  divinest  Liberty." 

In  1797  Coleridge  removed  to  Nether  Stowey  in  Somer- 
setshire, where  he  occupied  a  house  placed  at  his  disposal 
by  an  admiring  friend.  Here  he  lived  on  terms  of  inti- 
macy with  Wordsworth,  whom  he  had  met  a  year  or  two 
previously.  In  spite  of  his  self-complacency,  Coleridge 
said  that  he  felt  himself  as  "  nothing  in  comparison  with 
Wordsworth."  And  Wordsworth,  who  was  far  from  flat- 
tering his  contemporaries,  declared  that  Coleridge  was 
"  the  only  wonderful  man  he  had  ever  known."  Without 
a  thought  of  literary  jealousy,  the  two  poets  worked 
together  in  beautiful  fellowship,  seeking  each  other's  coun- 
sel and  stimulating  each  other's  activity. 

In  his  poem  "To  WiUiam  Wordsworth"  Coleridge  pays 

a  beautiful  tribute  to  the  preeminent  gifts  of  his  friend. 

The  poem  was  written  on  the  night  after  Wordsworth  had 

recited  some  verses  on  the  growth  of  an  individual  mind  in 

"  The  Prelude  "  :  — 

"  O  great  Bard  ! 

Ere  yet  that  last  strain  dying  awed  the  air, 

With  steadfast  eye  I  viewed  thee  in  the  choir 

Of  ever-enduring  men.     The  truly  great 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE.  433 

Have  all  one  age,  and  from  one  visible  space 
Shed  influence  !     They,  both  in  power  and  act, 
Are  permanent,  and  Time  is  not  with  them. 
Save  as  it  worketh  for  them,  they  in  it." 

The  poems  of  this  period  exhibit  clearly,  especially  in 
their  deeper  sympathy  with  nature,  the  influence  of  Words- 
worth. Thus,  in  "The  Nightingale,"  written  in  1798,  Cole- 
ridge says  that  there  is  nothing  melancholy  in  nature,  and 
that  the  sorrowing  poet,  who  wronged  philomel  by  calling 
its  song  sad,  — 

"  Had  better  far  have  stretched  his  limbs 
Beside  a  brook  in  mossy  forest-dell. 
By  sun  or  moon-light,  to  the  influxes 
Of  shapes  and  sounds  and  shifting  elements 
Surrendering  his  whole  spirit,  of  his  song 
And  of  his  fame  forgetful  !  so  his  fame 
Should  share  in  Nature's  immortality, 
A  venerable  thing  !  and  so  his  song 
Should  make  all  Nature  lovelier,  and  itself 
Be  loved  like  Nature."' 

For  Coleridge  the  most  important  poetic  result  of  this 
association  with  Wordsworth  was  the  composition  of  "  The 
Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner."  The  poem  appeared  in 
the  "  Lyrical  Ballads"  prepared  jointly  by  the  two  poets  in 
1798.  This  volume  was  written  to  illustrate  two  points, 
namely,  "the  power  of  exciting  the  sympathy  of  the  reader 
by  a  faithful  adherence  to  the  truth  of  nature,  and  the  power 
of  giving  the  interest  of  novelty  by  the  modifying  colors  of 
the  imagination."  In  carrying  out  these  principles,  it  was 
agreed  that  Coleridge  should  treat  of  persons  and  charac- 
ters supernatural,  or  at  least  romantic.     Wordsworth,  on 

2F 


434  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

the  other  hand,  was  to  give  the  charm  of  novelty  to  com- 
monplace things  and  direct  attention  to  the  loveliness  and 
wonders  of  the  world  about  us.  Both  did  their  work  mar- 
vellously well  and  produced  an  epoch-making  book.  "  I 
found  in  these  poems,"  says  De  Quincey,  "the  ray  of  a 
new  morning,  and  an  absolute  revelation  of  untrodden 
worlds,  teeming  with  power  and  beauty,  as  yet  unsuspected 
among  men." 

In  conformity  with  the  guiding  principle  he  had  adopted, 
Coleridge  wrote  the  "  Ancient  Mariner,"  in  which  he  lends, 
in  a  wonderful  degree,  the  force  of  reality  to  what  is  purely 
imaginary.  It  is  wholly  unlike  anything  else  he  ever 
wrote.  It  is  remarkable  for  its  strong  ballad  style,  for  its 
vivid  descriptions,  and  for  its  rounded  completeness  of 
form.  Of  its  kind  there  is,  perhaps,  nothing  better  in  our 
language.  The  lesson  of  the  poem,  though  it  was  not 
written  for  its  moral,  is  contained  in  the  parting  words  of 
the  dreadful  mariner  :  — 

"  Farewell,  farewell !  but  this  I  tell 
To  thee,  thou  wedding-guest ! 
He  prayeth  well  who  loveth  well 
Both  man  and  bird  and  beast. 

"  He  prayeth  best,  who  loveth  best 
All  things  both  great  and  small ; 
For  the  dear  God  who  loveth  us, 
He  made  and  loveth  all." 

Another  piece  appearing  in  the  "  Lyrical  Ballads "  is 
"  Love,"  the  sweetest  of  all  Coleridge's  poems.  It  is  dis- 
tinguished for  its  soft,  fascinating  melody  —  a  quality  for 
which  the  author  especially  prized  it.  The  opening  stanza 
is  often  quoted  :  — 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERLDGE.  435 

"  All  thoughts,  all  passions,  all  delights, 
Whatever  stirs  this  mortal  frame. 
All  are  but  ministers  of  Love, 
And  feed  his  sacred  flame.'' 

"  Christabel,"  originally  intended  for  the  "  Lyrical  Bal- 
lads," but  not  published  till  several  years  later,  was  written 
according  to  the  poetic  principle  that  had  produced  the 
"Ancient  Mariner."  Unfortunately  it  was  never  com- 
pleted. Of  the  two  parts  we  have,  one  was  written  in 
1797  and  the  other  in  1800.  The  metre  is  founded  on 
a  new  principle,  "  namely,  that  of  counting  in  each  line  the 
accents,  not  the  syllables.  Though  the  latter  may  vary 
from  seven  to  twelve,  yet  in  each  line  the  accents  will  be 
found  to  be  only  four."  The  characters  of  Christabel, 
Sir  Leoline,  and  the  sorceress  Geraldine  are  a  little 
shadowy ;  but  when  read  and  reread,  the  poem  is  seen 
to  possess  astonishing  power  —  the  noblest  torso  in  Eng- 
lish literature.  It  contains  a  remarkable  passage,  which 
the  poet  regarded  as  the  best  he  ever  wrote :  — 

"  Alas  !  they  had  been  friends  in  youth  ; 
But  whispering  tongues  can  poison  truth. 


"  They  parted  ne'er  to  meet  again  ! 
But  never  either  found  another 
To  free  the  hollow  heart  from  paining  — 
They  stood  aloof,  the  scars  remaining, 
Like  cliffs  which  had  been  rent  asunder; 
A  dreary  sea  now  flows  between, 
But  neither  heat,  nor  frost,  nor  thunder, 
Shall  wholly  do  away,  I  ween, 
The  marks  of  that  which  once  hath  been." 


436  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

In  1798,  impelled  perhaps  by  the  lack  of  means,  Cole- 
ridge thought  of  becoming  a  Unitarian  preacher  and  of 
abandoning  literature  forever.  Hazlitt  has  given  an  en- 
thusiastic description  of  one  of  his  sermons,  in  which 
"  poetry  and  philosophy,  truth  and  genius,  had  embraced, 
under  the  eye  and  with  the  sanction  of  religion."  But  an 
annuity  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  bestowed  upon 
him  by  the  Wedgwood  brothers,  who  admired  his  genius, 
saved  him  for  literature.  In  September,  in  company  with 
Wordsworth  and  his  sister  Dorothy,  Coleridge  went  to 
Germany,  where  he  devoted  himself  assiduously  first  to 
the  language  and  afterward  to  metaphysics  and  theology. 

In  "  Satyrane's  Letters  "  he  has  given  an  account  of  his 
experiences,  and  exhibited  a  larger  sense  of  humor  than 
is  to  be  found  elsewhere  in  his  writings.  It  was  during 
this  sojourn  abroad  that  he  wrote  the  sublime  "  Hymn 
before  Sunrise,"  inspired  by  the  awful  grandeur  of  Mont 
Blanc. 

He  returned  to  England  at  the  end  of  fourteen  months ; 
and  as  the  first  fruit  of  his  visit  to  Germany  he  translated 
Schiller's  "  Wallenstein,"  which  was  printed  in  1800.  The 
translation  is  admirably  made,  improving,  some  maintain, 
on  the  original ;  but  it  was  not  till  some  years  later,  when 
Coleridge's  fame  was  well  established,  that  its  excellence 
was  fully  recognized.  This  same  year  he  took  charge  of 
the  literary  and  political  department  of  the  Mortiing  Post. 
His  princely  gifts  were  speedily  recognized,  and  the  pro- 
prietor offered  him  a  half-interest  in  the  newspaper  busi- 
ness, which  would  have  brought  him,  as  he  estimated, 
about  two  thousand  pounds  a  year.  "  But  I  told  him," 
says  Coleridge  in  a  characteristic  passage,  "  that  I  would 


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SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERLDGE.  437 

not  give  up  the  country  and  the  lazy  reading  of  old  folios 
for  two  thousand  times  two  hundred  pounds  —  in  short, 
that  beyond  three  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year  I  con- 
sidered money  a  real  evil." 

The  year  "  Wallenstein  "  was  published,  Coleridge 
removed  to  the  Lake  District  in  the  north  of  England, 
made  famous  by  the  residence  also  of  Wordsworth  and 
Southey.  To  these  three  poets,  who  have  something  in 
common  in  style,  has  been  given  the  name  of  Lake  School. 
At  this  period  the  mind  and  character  of  Coleridge  under- 
went a  serious  and  baleful  change.  About  a  year  after  his 
settling  at  Keswick,  his  health  became  seriously  impaired  ; 
and  seeking  relie£  from  acute  pain,  he  resorted  to  the  use 
of  opiates.  He  found  physical  relief  for  a  time,  but  at 
length  discovered  that  he  was  held  in  a  terrible  bondage. 
His  will  became  more  enfeebled  and  vacillating ;  and, 
worst  of  all,  his  imagination  lost  its  imperial  sweep  and 
power.  His  "Ode  to  Dejection,"  written  in  the  spring  of 
1802,  possesses  a  deep  biographic  interest:  — 

"  But  now  afflictions  bow  me  down  to  earth  : 
Nor  care  I  that  they  rob  me  of  my  mirth, 

But  oh  !  each  visitation 
Suspends  what  nature  gave  me  at  my  birth. 

My  shaping  spirit  of  Imagination." 

In  1804  Coleridge  sailed  for  Malta,  where  for  a  time  he 
acted  as  secretary  to  the  governor  of  the  island,  Sir  Alex- 
ander Bell.  The  drudgery  of  his  office,  and  the  regular 
habits  it  enforced,  at  length  became  intolerable.  He  went 
to  Rome,  where  he  interested  himself  in  the  treasures  of 
art,  and  after  an  absence  of   two    years   and    a    half    he 


438  ENGLISH  LITEKATURE. 

returned  to  England.  The  opium  habit,  which  had  gained 
a  deeper  hold  on  him,  rendered  his  life  for  the  next  ten 
years  almost  indescribably  wretched.  His  poetic  faculty 
had  passed  away,  and  in  prose  he  was  unequal  to  any 
serious  task.  Southey  shed  tears  over  the  wreck  of  his 
genius.  Only  his  colloquial  powers  still  retained  some- 
thing of  their  former  splendor.  "  He  talked  very  much 
like  an  angel,"  Lord  Egmont  said,  "  and  did  nothing 
at  all." 

During  the  period  under  consideration  Coleridge  deliv- 
ered several  courses  of  lectures  in  London  and  Bristol. 
His  first  series,  delivered  in  1808,  was  a  course  on  Poetry 
and  the  Fine  Arts,  for  which  the  Royal  .Institution  agreed 
to  pay  him  one  hundred  guineas.  His  reputation  at  first 
attracted  large  audiences  of  distinguished  people.  But  he 
had  become,  to  use  a  word  of  his  own  coinage,  wholly 
imreliablc.  In  spite  of  his  honorable  intentions,  no  de- 
pendence could  be  placed  in  any  appointments  he  made. 
He  frequently  disappointed  his  audiences ;  and  when  he 
did  appear,  he  sadly  failed  to  meet  expectations.  His 
vast  powers  of  extemporaneous  discourse  had  deserted 
him.  But  a  few  years  later,  when  he  had  somewhat 
recovered  his  natural  tone  of  body  and  mind,  his  old-time 
fervor  and  power  returned.  "  His  words  seemed  to  flow," 
it  was  said,  "  as  from  a  person  repeating  with  grace  and 
energy  some  delightful  poem."  His  lectures  on  Shake- 
speare, the  substance  of  which  has  been  preserved,  give 
him  a  foremost  place  among  Shakespeare's  critics. 

In  1813  his  play  "Remorse,"  which  had  been  written 
years  before,  was  accepted,  upon  Byron's  recommenda-. 
tion,  by  Drury  Lane  Theatre.     The  scene  is  laid  in  Spain 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERLDGE.  439 

at  the  time  of  the  Inquisition  under  Philip  II.  The  piece 
is  not  without  striking  passages  and  had  a  brilHant  suc- 
cess, running  for  twenty  nights.  It  brought  Coleridge 
three  times  as  much  as  all  his  other  literary  productions 
put  together  —  a  most  welcome  boon  at  a  time  of  pressing 
necessity.  A  second  drama,  "  Zapolya,"  written  at  the 
suggestion  of  Byron,  was  destined  never  to  see  the  foot- 
lights, but  on  its  publication  in  18 17  it  became  so  popular 
that  two  thousand  copies  were  sold  in  six  weeks. 

With  the  year  1816  there  came  a  change  for  the  better. 
Realizing  his  inability  to  break  the  bonds  of  his  terrible 
slavery,  Coleridge  placed  himself  under  the  care  of  Mr. 
Gillman,  a  surgeon  of  Highgate,  London.  No  wiser  or 
kinder  guardian  could  have  been  chosen.  For  the  rest  of 
his  life  Coleridge  remained  an  inmate  of  this  hospitable 
home,  and  succeeded,  in  large  measure,  in  breaking  away 
from  the  thraldom  of  his  fatal  habit.  With  returning 
health  something  of  his  former  power  came  back.  His 
most  important  prose  works  belong  to  this  period. 
"The  Statesman's  Manual"  appeared  in  1816,  and  the 
year  following  he  published  the  "  Biographia  Literaria,  or 
Sketches  of  my  Literary  Life  and  Opinions,"  one  of  the 
most  interesting  of  his  many  works. 

The  life  of  Coleridge  has  been  divided  into  three  periods, 
according  to  the  prevailing  character  of  his  intellectual 
activity.  The  first,  extending  to  the  year  1798,  has  been 
called  the  poetic  period ;  the  second,  extending  to  the  year 
18 18,  the  critical  period ;  and  the  third,  extending  to  his 
death  in  1834,  the  theological  period.  During  this  last 
period  the  prevailing  interest  of  his  life  was  metaphysics 
and  theology.     In  philosophy  he  was  a  transccndentalist. 


440  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

He  was  a  profound  student  of  the  German  metaphysicians, 
particularly  of  Kant,  Schelling,  and  Hegel,  whose  teach- 
ings he  was  the  first  to  naturalize  in  England.  In  large 
measure  he  adopted  the  philosophical  system  of  Kant,  and 
insisted  particularly  on  the  great  German's  distinction  be- 
tween the  reason  and  the  widerstanding.  In  1825  he  pub- 
lished his  "Aids  to  Reflection,"  the  purpose  of  which  was 
to  show  that  the  "  Christian  faith  is  the  perfection  of 
human  intelligence."  It  is  regarded  by  many  as  his 
ablest  work. 

There  was  a  wonderful  magnetism  about  Coleridge's 
personality.  He  gathered  about  him  a  circle  of  disciples, 
who^revered  him  as  a  prophet.  His  conversation  exerted 
a  fascinating  power,  even  when  by  reason  of  its  depth  or 
transcendentalism  it  was  not  clearly  understood.  No 
more  wonderful  talker  has  appeared  since  the  days  of 
Johnson.  His  "Table  Talk,"  preserved  by  his  nephew, 
gives  an  idea  of  the  acuteness  and  variety  of  his  ob- 
servation, though  not  of  his  inspired  impressiveness. 
"Throughout  a  long-drawn  summer's  day,"  says  Henry 
Nelson  Coleridge,  "would  this  man  talk  to  you  in  low, 
equable,  but  clear  and  musical  tones,  concerning  things 
human  and  divine ;  marshalUng  all  history,  harmonizing 
all  experiment,  probing  the  depths  of  your  consciousness, 
and  revealing  visions  of  glory  and  of  terror  to  the  imagi- 
nation ;  but  pouring  withal  such  floods  of  light  upon  the 
mind  that  you  might,  for  a  season,  like  Paul,  become  blind 
in  the  very  act  of  conversion."  ^ 

Coleridge  calmly  passed  away  July  25,  1834.     In  spite 
of  his  many  defects  of  character  and  life,  his  aims  were 

1  See  Carlyle's  sketch  in  the  "  Life  of  Sterling." 


SAMUEL    TAYLOR    COLERIDGE.  441 

pure  and  good.  "  As  God  hears  me,"  he  wrote  only  a 
few  months  before  his  death,  "  the  originating,  continuing, 
and  sustaining  wish  and  design  in  my  heart  were  to  exalt 
the  glory  of  His  name ;  and,  which  is  the  same  thing  in 
other  words,  to  promote  the  improvement  of  mankind." 
That  he  did  not,  with  his  magnificent  gifts,  accomplish 
more  was  due  to  a  will  of  singular  infirmity.  He  did  not 
restrain  his  thought  and  imagination,  which  moved  in 
large  orbits  like  Saturn  or  Jupiter,  within  the  range  of  his 
power  of  achievement.  And  in  the  composition  of  his 
works  he  was  constantly  drawn  aside  from  the  logical 
path  of  development  by  every  beautiful  prospect  that 
burst  upon  him  from  adjacent  fields.  His  works  are  rarely 
systematic  and  complete ;  but  in  spite  of  their  obvious  de- 
fects, they  are  suggestive,  original,  profound,  ranking  him 
as  one  of  the  greatest  thinkers  of  his  age. 


442  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


/ 


PERCY    BYSSHE    SHELLEY. 

No  one  can  doubt  that  Shelley's  fame  has  been  growing 
since  his  death.  The  age  in  which  he  wrote  was  little 
tolerant  toward  his  revolutionary  principles  and  ideals. 
But  since  that  time  human  culture  has  gained  in  breadth. 
We  have  become  more  catholic  in  our  sympathies  and 
more  tolerant  in  our  judgments.  Instead  of  an  incon- 
siderate condemnation  of  Shelley,  we  are  disposed  to  give 
him  a  hearing  and  to  recognize  any  excellence  he  may  be 
shown  to  possess.  In  our  inquiry  we  shall  find  much  to 
condemn,  but  also  much  to  admire. 

Shelley's  Hfe  was  a  tragically  sad  one.  He  started  out 
with  the  high  and  sanguine  hopes  of  an  ardent  nature. 
He  was  thoroughly  unselfish  in  his  aims.  He  hoped  to 
see  society  regenerated  and  to  play  an  important  part  in 
its  regeneration.  But  his  ardent  efforts  were  coldly  re- 
ceived. He  was  misunderstood  ;  he  was  harshly  assailed  ; 
he  finally  suffered  from  a  sense  of  loneliness.  Even  the 
beauties  of  nature  failed  at  length  to  awaken  the  bound- 
ing joy  of  his  earlier  years.  In  "The  Lament,"  the  best 
of  his  short  lyrics,  he  has  given  beautiful  expression  to  his 
growing  sadness  :  — 

"  O  world,  O  life,  O  time  ! 
On  whose  last  steps  I  climb, 

Trembling  at  that  where  I  had  stood  before ; 
When  will  return  the  glory  of  your  prime? 

No  more  —  oh,  never  more. 


PERCY  BYSSHE   SHELLEY.  443 

"  Out  of  the  day  and  night 
A  joy  has  taken  flight ; 

Fresh  spring,  and  summer,  and  winter  hoar. 
Move  my  faint  heart  with  grief,  but  with  dehght 

No  more  —  oh,  never  more." 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley  was  born  in  Sussex,  Aug.  4, 
1792,  in  a  family  of  wealth  and  titles.  His  mother  was 
a  woman  of  great  beauty,  but  without  literary  tastes.  His 
father  was  a  choleric,  obstinate  man,  whose  notions  of 
morality  had  been  imbibed  in  the  school  of  Chesterfield. 
In  Parliament  his  statesmanship  was  confined  to  a  rigid 
adherence  to  party  measures.  As  a  hard-headed,  practical 
man,  he  utterly  failed  to  appreciate  the  genius  of  his  son. 

Shelley  exhibited  in  childhood  the  leading  traits  that 
characterized  him  in  manhood.  His  literary  bent  mani- 
fested itself  in  the  composition  of  a  play  before  he  was 
ten  years  old.  At  Zion  House  Academy,  the  first  public 
school  to  which  he  was  sent,  he  learned  the  classic  lan- 
guages almost  by  intuition.  He  was  fond  of  reading,  but 
was  indifferent  to  physical  sports ;  and  while  his  school- 
fellows were  at  their  games,  he  frequently  remained  alone, 
absorbed  in  day-dreams.  His  sensitive,  independent  nature 
could  not  brook  — 

"  The  harsh  and  grating  strife  of  tyrants  and  of  foes  ; '' 

and  it  was  here,  as  we  learn  from  the  prologue  to  "  The 
Revolt  of  Islam,"  that  he  first  consciously  espoused  the 
principles  of  freedom. 

At  the  age  of  thirteen  Shelley  entered  Eton,  where,  as 
we  might  expect,  he  did  not  fall  in  readily  with  the  dis- 
cipline and  customs  of  the  school.  His  spirit  of  inde- 
pendence   asserted    itself    strongly,    and    he    organized    a 


444  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

formal  rebellion  against  the  fagging  system.  He  was 
known  as  "  Mad  Shelley."  Though  he  became  very  pro- 
ficient in  Latin  and  Greek,  a  large  part  of  his  time  was  de- 
voted to  other  than  the  prescribed  studies.  He  acquired 
knowledge  with  astonishing  facility,  for  he  had  a  retentive 
memory,  and  mastered  books  with  extraordinary  rapidity. 
He  wrote  a  novel,  "  Zastrozzi,"  which,  in  spite  of  its  small 
merit,  found  a  publisher,  and  brought  him  forty  pounds. 
He  had  a  special  fondness  for  natural  science,  of  which  he 
predicted  great  things ;  and  though  it  was  forbidden,  he 
spent  a  good  deal  of  time  in  chemical  and  electrical  ex- 
periments. His  yearning  for  knowledge,  in  connection 
with  his  imaginative  temperament,  led  him,  like  another 
Faust,  to  seek  communion  with  the  world  of  spirits.  Of 
this  experience  we  have  an  interesting  reminiscence  in  the 
splendid  "  Hymn  to  Intellectual  Beauty  "  :  — 

'■'■  While  yet  a  boy  I  sought  for  ghosts,  and  sped 
Thro'  many  a  listening  chamber,  cave,  and  ruin, 
And  starlight  woods,  with  fearful  steps  pursuing 
Hopes  of  high  talk  with  the  departed  dead ; 
I  called  on  poisonoils  names  with  which  our  youth  is  fed. 
I  was  not  heard,  I  saw  them  not." 

In  due  course  of  time  Shelley  entered  University 
College,  Oxford,  in  1810.  His  brief  university  career 
may  be  anticipated  in  its  essential  features.  He  cared 
little  for  the  prescribed  studies  and  showed  a  marked 
distaste  for  mathematics.  He  had  a  strong  predilection 
for  metaphysical  studies,  and  Plato,  at  this  time,  became 
a  favorite  author.  The  perusal  of  Hume  and  the  French 
materialists  now  confirmed  him  in  his  sceptical  beliefs. 
His    enthusiasm    for    natural    science    continued    without 


PERCY  BYSSHE   SHELLEY.  445 

abatement,  and  his  room,  it  is  said,  was  a  perfect  chaos  of 
chemical  apparatus,  electrical  machines,  fm^niture  burned 
by  acids,  scattered  volumes,  and  unfinished  manuscripts. 

He  was  tall  and  handsome  —  too  beautiful  to  paint,  it 
was  said.  His  life  was  singularly  pure ;  and  a  coarse  or 
indecent  jest  aroused  his  indignation.  His  manners,  gov- 
erned by  an  innate  delicacy  of  feeling,  were  charming  for 
their  unvaried  grace  and  refinement.  Two  fixed  principles 
of  his  character,  according  to  the  testimony  of  his  friend 
and  biographer  Hogg,  were  "  a  strong  irrepressible  love  of 
liberty ;  of  liberty  in  the  abstract,  and  somewhat  after 
the  pattern  of  the  ancient  republics,  without  reference 
to  the  English  constitution,  respecting  which  he  knew 
little  and  cared  nothing,  heeding  it  not  at  all.  The  second 
was  an  equally  ardent  love  of  toleration  of  all  opinions, 
but  more  especially  of  religious  opinions ;  of  toleration, 
complete,  universal,  unlimited ;  and,  as  a  deduction  and 
corollary  from  which  latter  principle,  he  felt  an  intense 
abhorrence  of  persecution  of  every  kind,  public  or  private." 

Though  paying  but  little  attention  to  poetry,  he  yet 
relieved  his  severer  studies  with  occasional  verses.  At 
length,  in  connection  with  Hogg,  he  turned  a  collection 
of  them  into  burlesque  effusions,  breathing  tyrannicide 
and  revolution.  These  were  published  as  the  "  Posthu- 
mous Fragments  of  Margaret  Nicholson,"  an  insane  old 
woman  who  had  attempted  the  life  of  George  HI  with 
a  carving  knife.  The  printer  entered  into  the  joke, 
and  the  book  was  issued  in  fine  style.  It  was  received 
as  a  genuine  production,  was  soon  in  everybody's  hands, 
and  became  the  talk  of  the  town  —  to  the  great  delight, 
no  doubt,  of  the  youthful  jokers. 


446  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

But  Shelley's  next  publication  was  not  so  pleasant  in 
its  results.  He  made  a  brief  abstract  of  Hume's  essays 
and  published  it  as  a  two-page  pamphlet  entitled  "  The 
Necessity  of  Atheism."  This  he  sent  to  various  promi- 
nent people,  saying  that  he  had  come  across  it  casually, 
and  that  he  desired  their  assistance  in  answering  it. 
Those  who  were  caught  in  the  trap  by  answering,  he 
fell  upon  with  merciless  severity.  But  this  trick  was 
suddenly  cut  short.  One  day  (March  25,  181 1)  he  was 
summoned  before  the  master  of  the  university ;  and 
upon  his  refusing  to  answer  any  questions  in  regard  to 
the  obnoxious  pamphlet,  he  was  unceremoniously  ex- 
pelled. 

This  unexpected  action  was  a  stunning  blow  and  carried 
with  it  more  serious  consequences  than  the  surrender  of 
his  agreeable  life  at  the  university.  He  was  tenderly 
devoted  to  his  cousin,  Harriet  Grove,  who  now  discarded 
him  on  account  of  his  atheistical  views.  His  father,  after 
some  futile  efforts  at  conciliation,  forbade  his  return  home, 
and  cut  off  his  allowance  of  money.  Thus  he  was  thrown 
upon  his  own  resources  at  a  time  when  he  was  poorly 
fitted  to  make  his  way  in  the  world. 

He  went  to  London  ;  and  in  his  distress  and  need  his 
sisters,  who  were  at  school  there,  came  to  his  assistance. 
They  generously  turned  over  to  him  their  pocket  money 
and  other  small  gifts,  with  which  for  a  time  he  eked  out  a 
subsistence.  The  acquaintance  he  now  formed  with  a 
school  friend  of  his  sisters  was  attended  with  momentous 
results.  Harriet  Westbrook  was  a  pretty,  bright  girl  of 
sixteen,  with  a  pleasant  voice  and  cheerful  temper.  He 
began  to  initiate  her  into  his  sceptical  and  free-love  prin- 


PERCY  BYSSHE   SHELLEY.  447 

ciples,  by  which,  as  he  said,  she  was  to  be  added  "  to  the 
Hst  of  the  good,  the  disinterested,  and  the  free."  She 
proved  an  apt  scholar  and  repaid  her  teacher,  as  was  to 
be  expected,  with  a  feeUng  deeper  than  gratitude.  She 
not  unnaturally  grew  tired  of  school ;  and  when  her  father, 
a  wealthy  coffee-house  keeper,  insisted  on  her  return,  she 
persistently  refused  and  threw  herself  on  the  protection 
of  Shelley.  He  could  not  resist  this  appeal,  especially  as 
he  had  advised  resistance ;  and  having  now  received  an 
allowance  of  two  hundred  pounds  from  his  father,  he 
eloped  with  her  to  Edinburgh,  where  out  of  deference  to 
the  "anarch  custom"  they  were  married  in  August,  1811. 

The  next  several  years  of  Shelley's  life  were  remarkably 
migratory.  For  a  short  time  he  lived  at  York  ;  then  at 
Keswick  in  the  Lake  District,  where  he  met  Southey  and 
Wordsworth ;  next  in  Dublin,  where  he  went  as  a  self- 
appointed  champion'  of  Catholic  emancipation;  after- 
ward in  Wales,  and  then  back  in  London.  During  this 
period  his  domestic  life,  in  spite  of  frequent  removals, 
was  happy.  His  wife  was  fond  of  reading  aloud  to 
him ;  she  pursued  her  studies  under  his  direction,  and 
in  every  way  she  proved  an  affectionate  and  helpful 
companion. 

During  this  time  of  restless  wandering  Shelley  dili- 
gently kept  up  his  studies.  Everywhere  he  went,  he  sur- 
rounded himself  with  books.  He  dipped  into  Kant  and 
Spinoza,  and  studied  Italian  in  order  to  read  Dante,  Tasso, 
and  Petrarch.  He  completed  his  first  extended  poem, 
"Queen  Mab,"  in  1813,  and  printed  two  hundred  and 
fifty  copies  for  private  distribution.  It  is  an  intemperate 
attack  on  the  existing  form  of  society,  government,  and 


448  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

religion.  It  sets  forth  the  poet's  peculiar  social  and  polit- 
ical principles ;  but  his  fervid  enthusiasm  at  times  carries 
him  into  amusing  or  pitiable  extravagance.  Though  gen- 
erally esteemed  but  lightly,  it  exhibits  his  great  lyrical 
power  and  contains  passages  of  rare  beauty.  Here  is 
the  opening  stanza  :  — 

"  How  wonderful  is  Death, 

Death  and  his  brother  Sleep  ! 
One,  pale  as  yonder  waning  moon, 

With  lips  of  lurid  blue  ; 

The  other,  rosy  as  the  morn 
When,  throned  on  ocean's  wave, 

It  blushes  o'er  the  world  : 
Yet  both  so  passing  wonderful  ! " 

Contrary  to  his  professions,  Shelley  was  not  in  the  strict 
sense  an  atheist.  He  recognized  the  immanence  of  a  world- 
forming  and  world-governing  Spirit.  To  this  belief  he 
gives  beautiful  expression  in  "  Queen  Mab  "  :  — 

"  Spirit  of  Nature!  thou 
Life  of  interminable  multitude  ; 
Soul  of  those  mighty  spheres 
Whose  changeless  paths  through  Heaven's  deep  silence  lie ; 
Soul  of  that  smallest  being, 

The  dwelling  of  whose  life 
Is  one  faint  April  sun-gleam  ;  — 
Man,  like  these  passive  things, 
Thy  will  unconsciously  fulfilleth  : 

Like  theirs,  his  age  of  endless  peace, 
Which  time  is  fast  maturing, 
Will  swiftly,  surely,  come  ; 
And  the  unbounded  frame  which  thou  pervadest 
Will  be  without  a  flaw 
Marring  its  perfect  symmetry." 


PERCY  BYSSHE   SHELLEY.  449 

Shelley  was  an  irrepressible  optimist.  All  the  sorrows 
and  disappointments  that  came  to  him  never  extinguished 
his  confidence  in  humanity  and  in  the  ultimate  reign  of 
righteousness  and  truth.  He  confidently  predicted  a 
veritable  golden  age  :  — 

'■  But  hoary-headed  selfishness  has  felt 
Its  death-blow,  and  is  tottering  to  the  grave  : 
A  brighter  morn  awaits  the  human  day, 
When  every  transfer  of  earth's  natural  gifts 
Shall  be  a  commerce  of  good  words  and  works ; 
When  poverty  and  wealth,  the  thirst  of  fame. 
The  fear  of  infamy,  disease,  and  woe, 
War  with  its  million  horrors,  and  fierce  hell. 
Shall  live  but  in  the  memory  of  time, 
Who  like  a  penitent  libertine  shall  start. 
Look  back,  and  shudder  at  his  younger  years." 

As  we  have  seen,  Shelley  returned  to  London  in  181 3. 
For  reasons  that  are  not  perfectly  clear,  the  course  of  his 
domestic  life  began  to  be  perturbed.  Its  prosaic  duties 
were  apt  to  pall  on  his  undisciplined  and  imaginative  tem- 
per. A  frequent  visitor  in  the  family  of  William  Godwin, 
whose  political  and  social  principles  he  shared,  he  became 
infatuated  with  his  daughter,  Mary  Wollstonecraft  God- 
win, a  young  woman  of  charming  person  and  brilliant  intel- 
lect. In  common  with  her  father  and  Shelley,  she  held  to 
the  doctrine  of  "  elective  affinities,"  and  looked  upon  the 
marriage  tic  as  conventional  tyranny.  The  result  can 
easily  be  foreseen.  Shelley  deserted  his  wife  and  two 
children,  and  clo]:)ed  with  Miss  Godwin  to  Switzerland  in 
1 8 14.  While  held  simply  as  a  theory,  his  doctrine  of  free 
love  remained  comparatively  harmless ;  but  once  put  into 
practice,  its  cruel  and  hideous  character  became  apparent. 

2G 


450  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

After  an  absence  of  six  weeks,  Shelley  returned  to  Eng- 
land. By  an  arrangement  with  his  father,  toward  whom 
he  cherished  a  morbid  dislike,  he  received  an  allowance  of 
a  thousand  pounds.  He  took  up  his  residence  on  the 
borders  of  Windsor  Forest,  where  he  composed  what  may 
be  regarded  as  his  first  great  poem.  This  is  "  Alastor," 
which  describes  a  pure  and  gifted  youth,  who,  at  first  satis- 
fied with  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  nature,  goes  in  search 
of  an  ideal  womanhood.  As  ideal  perfection  does  not  exist 
in  mortal  form,  his  search  proved  in  vain,  and  at  length 
the  imaginative  wanderer,  worn  out  by  disappointment, 
descends  to  an  untimely  grave.  It  is  written  in  majestic 
blank  verse  and  first  revealed  the  fulness  of  the  poet's 
power.  In  the  opinion  of  Lady  Shelley,  none  of  his 
poems  is  more  characteristic  than  this.  "The  solemn 
spirit  that  reigns  throughout,  the  worship  of  the  majesty 
of  nature,  the  broodings  of  a  poet's  heart  in  solitude,  the 
mingling  of  the  exalted  joy  which  the  various  aspects  of 
the  visible  universe  inspire,  with  the  sad  and  struggling 
pangs  which  human  passion  imparts,  give  a  touching  inter- 
est to  the  whole."  Here  is  the  vision  of  beauty  that  came 
to  him  in  a  lonely  dell  of  Cachmire  :  — 

"  He  dreamed  a  veiled  maid 
Sat  near  him,  talking  in  low,  solemn  tones. 
Her  voice  was  like  the  voice  of  his  own  soul 
Heard  in  the  calm  of  thought ;  its  music  long, 
Like  woven  sounds  of  streams  and  breezes,  held 
His  inmost  sense  suspended  in  its  web 
Of  many-colored  woof  and  shifting  hues. 
Knowledge  and  truth  and  virtue  were  her  theme, 
And  lofty  hopes  of  divine  liberty, 
Thoughts  the  most  dear  to  him,  and  poesy, 


PERCY  BYSSIIE   SHELLEY,  45  I 

Herself  a  poet.     Soon  the  solemn  mood 

Of  her  pure  mind  kuidled  through  all  her  frame 

A  permeating  fire  ;  wild  numbers  then 

She  raised,  with  voice  stifled  in  tremulous  sobs 

Subdued  by  its  own  pathos ;  her  fair  hands 

Were  bare  alone,  sweeping  from  some  strange  harp 

Strange  symphony,  and  in  their  branching  veins 

The  eloquent  blood  told  an  ineffable  tale." 

In  1816,  the  year  "' Alastor  "  was  published,  he  made 
another  visit  to  Switzerland.  Here  he  first  met  Byron, 
and  in  company  with  him  made  a  tour  of  Lake  Geneva  in 
a  boat.  When,  after  a  few  months,  he  returned  to  Eng- 
land, an  event  occurred  that  seems  to  have  cast  a  shadow 
over  his  subsequent  life.  His  wife  Harriet,  after  form- 
ing an  illicit  and  unhappy  relation,  committed  suicide  by 
drowning.  By  public  sentiment,  as  well  as  by  his  own 
conscience,  he  was  held  in  a  measure  responsible  for  her 
death ;  and  it  is  asserted  by  one  of  his  biographers  that  he 
continued  to  be  pursued,  like  another  Orestes,  with  haunt- 
ing memories.  He  was  legally  deprived  of  the  custody  of 
his  children  on  the  double  ground  of  his  atheistical  opin- 
ions and  his  previous  desertion. 

Shortly  after  the  suicide  of  his  deserted  wife,  Shelley 
and  Miss  Godwin,  presumably  under  the  stress  of  outside 
pressure,  were  married  in  December,  18 16.  They  were 
living  at  Marlow,  a  few  miles  from  London  on  the  Thames. 
It  was  here,  in  181 7,  as  he  floated  in  his  boat  on  the  river, 
or  wandered  over  the  surrounding  country,  that  he  com- 
posed his  longest  poem,  "The  Revolt  of  Islam."  It  is 
written  in  the  Spenserian  stanza,  and  the  luxuriance  of  its 
imagery  greatly  obscures  the  narrative.  As  in  "  Alastor," 
the  hero  Laon  is  an  idealized  portrait  of  the  poet  himself. 


452  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

All  his  peculiar  principles  —  his  hatred  of  tyranny,  enthu- 
siasm for  freedom,  ardor  for  social  regeneration,  the  rights 
of  woman,  and  love  according  to  the  law  of  "  elective  affin- 
ity " —  here  find  expression.  The  story  relates  the  awak- 
ening of  a  nation  to  freedom  under  the  eloquence  of  a 
hero-poet,  the  temporary  success  of  the  cause  of  human 
liberty,  and  the  final  triumph  of  despotic  power.  The 
hero  as  well  as  the  heroine,  sustained  by  a  quenchless 
faith  in  the  righteousness  and  ultimate  triumph  of  their 
cause,  suffer  a  martyr's  death. 

His  life  at  Marlow  was  one  of  simple  and  busy  routine. 
He  rose  early,  read  before  breakfast,  studied  the  greater 
part  of  the  forenoon,  dined  on  vegetables  (for  he  had 
become  a  vegetarian),  conversed  with  friends,  to  whom 
his  house  was  always  open,  strolled  over  the  country,  read 
to  his  wife  in  the  evening,  and  retired  at  ten  o'clock.  His 
favorite  books  at  this  time  were  Plato,  Homer,  the  Greek 
tragedians,  and  the  Bible,  in  which,  particularly  in  Job,  he 
took  great  delight.  While  assailing  dogma  and  ecclesias- 
ticism,  he  revered  Christ,  and  in  unusual  degree  exempli- 
fied the  law  of  love  in  relation  to  his  fellow-men.  He 
was  generous  with  his  money  and  systematically  aided  the 
numerous  poor  about  him.  "  Without  a  murmur,  without 
ostentation,"  says  a  judicious  biographer,  "  this  heir  of  the 
richest  baronet  in  Sussex  illustrated  by  his  own  conduct 
those  principles  of  democratic  simplicity  and  of  fraternal 
charity  which  formed  his  political  and  social  creed." 

In  1818  Shelley  went  to  Italy,  where  the  remaining 
four  years  of  his  life  were  spent.  Apart  from  his  roving 
disposition,  the  princi]xil  consideration  in  this  move  was 
his   health,   which   was   seriously  threatened    by  a   pulmo- 


PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY.  453 

nary  trouble.  He  resided  successively  at  many  places, 
including  Milan,  Pisa,  Venice,  Rome,  and  Naples.  His 
letters  of  this  period  are  excellent  specimens  of  descrip- 
tive prose.  He  was  not  disappointed  with  Italy;  "the 
aspect  of  its  nature,  the  sunny  sky,  its  majestic  storms, 
the  luxuriant  vegetation  of  the  country,  and  the  noble 
marble-built  cities,  enchanted  him."  He  lived  on  terms 
of  intimacy  with  Byron,  though  he  admired  the  writings 
more  than  the  character  of  his  brother  bard.  In  August 
he  visited  him  at  Venice  and  embodied  his  experience 
in  the  admirable  poem  of  "Julian  and  Maddalo."  Be- 
sides its  excellent  poetry,  it  is  notable  for  its  portrayal  of 
the  two  poets.  This  poem  furnishes  one  of  the  remarka- 
bly few  passages  in  Shelley's  works  suitable  for  popular 

quotation  :  — 

"Most  wretched  men 
Are  cradled  into  poetry  by  wrong ; 
They  learn  in  suffering  what  they  teach  in  song." 

The  year  18 19  marks  the  climax  of  Shelley's  creative 
power.  What  he  might  have  accomplished  if  his  life  had 
been  prolonged,  must  remain  a  matter  of  speculation  ;  but 
in  this  year,  in  addition  to  numerous  other  productions 
(among  them  "Peter  Bell  the  Third,"  the  "Masque  of 
Anarchy,"  and  the  fine  "Ode  to  the  West  Wind"), 
he  wrote  "Prometheus  Unbound"  and  "The  Cenci." 
These  two  tragedies  may  be  considered  the  masterpieces 
of  Shelley's  genius.  The  title  of  the  first  is  an  antithesis 
to  the  "  Prometheus  Bound  "  of  ^schylus.  •  Prometheus 
stands  for  the  upward  striving  spirit  of  our  race ;  Jove  for 
all  that  thwarts  or  hinders  it.  The  Titan,  with  infinite 
patience  and   fortitude,  defies  the  wrath  and   tortures  of 


454  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

the  Olympian ;  and  his  ultimate  deliverance  typifies  the 
triumph  of  humanity  over  the  various  forms  of  existing 
evil.     Then,  — 

"  Love,  from  its  awful  throne  of  patient  power, 
In  the  wise  heart,  from  the  last  giddy  hour 

Of  dread  endurance,  from  the  slippery,  steep, 
And  narrow  verge  of  crag-like  agony,  springs 
And  folds  over  the  world  its  healing  wings. " 

The  poem  lifts  us  above  the  common  experiences  of  life 
into  a  region  of  the  poet's  own  creation.  The  dramatis 
person(E  are  superhuman  beings.  Though  Shelley  de- 
lighted in  metaphysical  speculation,  the  poem  is  almost 
wholly  imaginative  and  descriptive.  There  is  an  almost 
utter  absence  of  philosophic  reflection ;  but  the  handling 
of  form  and  color  is  unapproachably  opulent  and  master- 
ful. The  wealth  of  the  English  language  in  musical 
rhythm  and  descriptive  power  was  never  exhibited  to 
better  advantage.  The  choral  songs  are  delightful  ex- 
amples of  Hquid  melody.  Take  the  hymn  of  Asia  in 
illustration  :  — 

"Life  of  Life,  thy  lips  enkindle 

With  their  love  the  breath  between  them ; 

And  thy  smiles  before  they  dwindle 

Make  the  cold  air  fire ;  then  screen  them 

In  those  looks,  where  whoso  gazes 

Faints,  entangled  in  their  mazes. 

"Child  of  Light!  thy  limbs  are  burning 

Through  the  vest  which  seems  to  hide  them ; 

As  the  radiant  lines  of  morning  •' 

Through  the  clouds,  ere  they  divide  them ; 

And  this  atmosphere  divinest 

Shrouds  thee  wheresoever  thou  shinest." 


PERCY  BYSSHE   SHELLEY.  455 

"  The  Cenc'i "  occupies  a  unique  place  among  the  poet's 
works.  In  it  he  descends  from  his  usual  wild  and  imagi- 
native flights  to  the  realities  of  life.  The  poem  is  a  dra- 
matic rendering  of  the  legend  of  Beatrice  Cenci,  who, 
under  insupportable  provocation,  killed  her  monster  of  a 
father.  The  poet  himself,  who  has  criticised  it  freely, 
says :  "  It  is  written  without  any  of  the  peculiar  feelings 
and  opinions  which  characterize  my  other  compositions ;  I 
have  attended  simply  to  the  impartial  development  of  such 
characters  as  it  is  probable  the  persons  represented  really 
were,  together  with  the  greatest  degree  of  popular  effect 
to  be  produced  by  such  a  development."  It  ranks  among 
the  best  dramas  produced  since  the  death  of  Shakespeare. 

The  year  1820,  which  was  spent  chiefly  at  Pisa,  saw  the 
production  of  some  of  his  choicest  lyrics.  Among  these  are 
the  "Ode  to  Naples,"  the  "Ode  to  Liberty,"  "To  a  Skylark," 
the  most  popular  of  his  lyrics,  and  the  inimitable  "Cloud":  — 

"  I  bring  fresh  showers  for  the  thirsting  flowers. 

From  the  seas  and  the  streams ; 
I  bear  light  shade  for  the  leaves  when  laid 

In  their  noon-day  dreams. 
From  my  wings  are  shaken  the  dews  that  waken 

The  sweet  buds  every  one, 
When  rocked  to  rest  on  their  mother's  breast, 

As  she  dances  about  the  sun. 
I  wield  the  flail  of  the  lashing  hail, 

And  whiten  the  green  plains  under, 
And  then  again  I  dissolve  it  in  rain, 

And  laugh  as  I  pass  in  thunder."' 

The  "  Letter  to  Maria  Gisborne,"  in  the  same  key  as 
"Julian  and  Maddalo,"  is  specially  interesting  for  its  char- 
acterizations of  some  of  the  poet's  contemporaries. 


456  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Shelley  took  the  poet's  art  seriously.  While  he  be- 
stowed careful  labor  on  the  correction  and  finish  of  his 
original  drafts,  he  emphasized  most  of  all  the  necessity 
of  special  inspiration.  In  his  prose  work  "  Defence  of 
Poetry,"  written  in  1820,  he  says:  "Poetry  is  not  Hke 
reasoning,  a  power  to  be  exerted  according  to  the  deter- 
mination of  the  will.  A  man  cannot  say  '  I  will  compose 
poetry.'  The  greatest  poet  even  cannot  say  it,  for  the 
mind  in  creation  is  as  a  fading  coal,  which  some  invisible 
influence,  like .  an  inconstant  wind,  awakens  to  transitory 
brightness ;  this  power  arises  from  within,  like  the  color 
of  a  flower  which  fades  and  changes  as  it  is  developed, 
and  the  conscious  portions  of  our  natures  are  unprophetic 
either  of  its  approach  or  its  departure.  Could  this  influ- 
ence be  durable  in  its  original  purity  and  force,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  predict  the  greatness  of  the  results  ;  but  when 
composition  begins,  inspiration  is  already  on  the  decline, 
and  the  most  glorious  poetry  that  has  ever  been  commu- 
nicated to  the  world  is  probably  a  feeble  shadow  of  the 
original  conceptions  of  the  poet." 

The  most  important  of  his  remaining  productions  (many 
worthy  of  mention  must  be  passed  over)  are  "  Epipsy- 
chidion,"  addressed  to  a  beautiful  but  unfortunate  lady  in 
whom  Shelley  became  deeply  interested,  and  "  Adonais," 
a  lament  over  the  death  of  the  poet  Keats.  The  latter  is 
an  elegy  of  great  beauty,  deserving  to  rank  with  Milton's 
"  Lycidas  "  and  Tennyson's  "  In  Memoriam."  Shelley  did 
not  regard  death  as  annihilation,  but  as  a  return  of  the 
soul  to  the  Spirit  of  Nature,  from  which  it  originally  came. 
Without  losing  its  personal  consciousness,  the  soul  thus 
becomes  participant  in  a  broad,  divine  life,  and  has  its  part 


PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY.  457 

in  all  the  glories  of  the  universe.     So  Shelley  sings  of  his 
friend  and  brother  poet :  — 

"  He  is  made  one  with  Nature  :  there  is  heard 
His  voice  in  all  her  music,  from  the  moan 
Of  thunder  to  the  song  of  night's  sweet  bird  ; 
He  is  a  presence  to  be  felt  and  known 
In  darkness  and  in  light,  from  herb  and  stone, 
Spreading  itself  where'er  that  Power  may  move 
Which  has  withdrawn  his  being  to  its  own ; 
Which  wields  the  world  with  never-wearied  love. 
Sustains  it  from  beneath,  and  kindles  it  above." 

The  last  dwelling-place  of  Shelley  was  on  the  Gulf  of 
Spezia,  whither  he  removed  in  April,  1822.  He  was  now 
surrounded  by  congenial  friends,  and  life  seemed  opening 
to  him  with  fairer  prospects.  He  felt  a  tranquillity  of 
spirit,  to  which  he  had  hitherto  been  a  stranger.  "  I  am 
content,"  he  wrote,  "if  the  heaven  above  me  is  calm  for 
the  passing  moment."  Under  these  favorable  conditions, 
he  began  a  lengthy  poem,  "  The  Triumph  of  Life,"  which 
was  conceived  on  the  lofty  plane  of  his  masterpieces. 
But  the  end  was  near.  He  was  passionately  fond  of  boat- 
ing. He  owned  a  schooner,  in  which  he  had  gone  to  Leg- 
horn to  meet  his  friend,  Leigh  Hunt.  On  his  return,  July 
8,  1822,  he  encountered  a  sudden  squall,  the  boat  was  cap- 
sized, and  he,  with  two  companions,  was  drowned.  His 
body  was  found  a  few  days  later,  and,  after  the  ancient 
Greek  fashion,  was  cremated  on  the  shore  near  Via 
Reggio.  The  poet's  ashes  were  collected  and  buried  in 
the  Protestant  cemetery  at  Rome. 

Shelley  is,  perhaps,  the  most  poetical  of  our  poets.  He 
has  not  the  philosophic  quality  of  Wordsworth,  nor  the 


458  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

versatile  power  of  Byron ;  but  in  sustained  loftiness  and 
sweep  of  imagination  he  surpasses  both  his  great  contem- 
poraries. He  can  never  be  a  popular  poet.  He  dwells 
habitually  in  an  imaginative  realm  beyond  the  popular 
taste  and  the  popular  capacity.  No  other  poet  seems  to 
have  the  rapture  of  inspiration  in  a  fuller  degree.  To 
some  extent  he  was  as  the  voice  of  one  crying  in  the 
wilderness.  He  not  only  pointed  out  many  of  the  evils 
of  social  life,  but  with  steadfast  faith  prophesied  a  happier 
era.  The  principles  that  inspired  much  of  his  poetry, 
separated  indeed  from  his  extravagance,  have  since  met 
with  wide  acceptance. 

As  a  practical  reformer,  Shelley's  life  must  be  regarded 
as  a  failure.  While  his  aims  were  essentially  pure  and 
noble,  his  ignorance  of  the  world  betrayed  him  into  fatal 
mistakes.  His  ardor  outstripped  discretion ;  and  he 
sought  to  do  in  a  brief  space  what  can  be  accomplished 
only  in  the  slow  evolution  of  centuries.  His  unbalanced 
enthusiasm  betrayed  him  into  extravagances ;  and  thus, 
while  seeking  unselfishly  to  improve  the  state  of  society, 
he  advocated  radical  doctrines,  which  in  practice  would 
have  increased  tenfold  the  evils  they  were  intended  to 
cure. 


A  photograph  after  painting  by  Archer. 


'^Ac^^n<}-^   St-q/^ 


U/Pn^C 


CC4J 


THOMAS  DE    QUINCE Y.  459 


THOMAS   DE  QUINCEY. 

De  Quincey  was,  like  Pope,  of  insignificant  stature,  but 
of  a  singularly  intelligent  face.  A  noble  brow  rose  over 
his  thin,  finely  chiselled  features,  and  his  blue  eyes  glowed 
with  an  unfathomable  depth.  He  was  nervously  shy,  and, 
like  Hawthorne,  almost  morbidly  averse  to  every  sort  of 
publicity.  His  mental  activity  was  prodigious,  and  at  his 
best  he  deserves  to  rank  as  one  of  the  most  delightful 
English  talkers.  Both  as  a  talker  and  writer  he  used 
"an  awfu'  sicht  o'  words,"  as  a  shrewd  Scotch  servant 
said  of  him ;  but  they  were  so  fastidiously  chosen  and  so 
musically  uttered  as  to  be  little  less  than  charming.  He 
was  a  unique  personality ;  and  beyond  almost  all  other 
writers  he  has  infused  his  character  —  idiosyncrasies  and 
all  —  into  his  writings. 

De  Quincey's  family  was  an  old  one.  When  a  boy  about 
fifteen,  he  once  met  the  king  near  Windsor.  "  Did  your 
family,"  his  Majesty  kindly  inquired,  "  come  into  England 
with  the  Huguenots  at  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of 
Nantes .? "  With  a  flush  of  pride  the  boy  answered : 
"  Please  your  Majesty,  the  family  has  been  in  England 
since  the  Conquest."  "How  do  you  know  that  .^ "  the 
king  again  asked  with  a  smile.  "  From  the  very  earliest 
of  all  English  books,  Robert  of  Gloucester's  '  Metrical 
Chronicle,'  which  was  written  about  1280,"  the  young 
scholar  repHed.      The  aristocratic   prefix   de,   which    had 


460  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

long  been  dropped  by  the  family,  appears  to  have  been 
resuscitated  by  our  author  himself. 

Thomas  de  Quincey  was  born  in  Manchester,  the  fifth 
of  eight  children,  Aug.  15,  1785.  His  father  was  "a 
plain  English  merchant "  of  large  means,  esteemed  for 
his  great  integrity,  and  strongly  attached  to  literary  pur- 
suits. "  My  mother,"  De  Quincey  sa-ys,  "  I  may  mention 
with  honor,  as  still  more  highly  gifted ;  for  though  unpre- 
tending to  the  name  and. honors  of  a  literary  woman,  I 
shall  presume  to  call  her  (what  many  literary  women  are 
not)  an  intellectual  woman."  Her  letters  are  character- 
ized by  strong  sense  and  idiomatic  grace. 

It  is  peculiarly  true  of  De  Quincey  that  the  child  was 
father  of  the  man.  As  a  child  he  was  shy,  sensitive, 
dreamy,  marvellously  precocious  in  thought  and  feeUng. 
Owing  to  this  strange  precocity,  his  early  years  brought 
him  unwonted  anguish  of  spirit.  But  the  sorrow  that 
touched  him  most  deeply  was  the  death  of  his  oldest 
sister  Elizabeth,  a  child  of  wonderful  promise  and  beauty, 
to  whom  he  was  attached  with  all  the  ardor  of  a  super- 
sensitive nature.  He  stole  into  the  room  where  the  body 
was  resting  in  almost  angelic  sweetness.  "  Awe,  not 
fear,"  he  says,  in  a  passage  of  deep  pathos,  "  fell  upon 
me ;  and  whilst  I  stood,  a  solemn  wind  began  to  blow  — 
the  saddest  that  ear  ever  heard.  It  was  a  wind  that  might 
have  swept  the  fields  of  mortality  for  a  thousand  centuries 
—  in  this  world  the  one  great  audible  symbol  of  eternity." 
Then  a  trance  fell  upon  him,  attended  with  a  magnificent 
vision.  But  at  length  he  came  to  himself,  kissed  the  Ups 
that  he  should  kiss  no  more,  and  stole,  like  a  guilty  thing, 
from  the  room  —  a  sad,  imperishable  memory  in  his  heart. 


THOMAS  DE    QUINCE Y.  46 1 

De  Quincey  loved  solitude,  the  charms  of  which  he  has 
often  portrayed  in  his  writings.  "All  day  long,"  he  says 
in  recalling  his  childhood,  "  when  it  was  not  impossible  for 
me  to  do  so,  I  sought  the  most  silent  and  sequestered 
nooks  in  the  grounds  about  the  house  or  in  the  neighbor- 
ing fields.  The  awful  stillness  oftentimes  of  summer 
noons,  when  no  winds  were  abroad,  the  appealing  silence 
of  gray  or  misty  afternoons,  —  these  were  fascinations  as 
of  witchcraft.  Into  the  woods,  into  the  desert  air,  I  gazed, 
as  if  some  comfort  lay  hid  in  tJicm.  I  wearied  the  heavens 
with  my  beseeching  looks.  Obstinately  I  tormented  the 
blue  depths  with  my  scrutiny,  sweeping  them  forever  with 
my  eyes,  and  searching  them  for  one  angelic  face  that 
might,  perhaps,  have  permission  to  reveal  itself  for  a 
moment." 

In  his  later  childhood  De  Quincey  passed  under  the 
absolute  tyranny  of  "  a  horrid,  pugilistic  boy,"  an  elder 
brother  who  had  returned  home  from  the  rough  discipline 
of  a  public  school.  "  His  genius  for  mischief,"  to  quote 
the  victim's  humorous  account  written  years  afterward, 
"  amounted  to  inspiration  ;  it  was  a  divine  afflatus  which 
drdve  him  in  that  direction ;  and  such  was  his  capacity  for 
riding  in  whirlwinds  and  directing  storms,  that  he  made  it 
his  trade  to  create  them,  as  a  cloud-compelling  Jove,  in 
order  that  he  might  direct  them."  He  despised  his  frail 
and  pensive  brother,  and  took  no  pains  to  conceal  his  feel- 
ings. "The  pillars  of  Hercules,"  to  quote  the  victim 
further,  "upon  which  rested  the  vast  edifice  of  his  scorn, 
were  these  two:  ist,  my  physics;  he  denounced  me  for 
effeminacy ;  2d,  he  assumed,  and  even  postulated  as  a 
datum,  which  I  myself  could  never  have  the  face  to  re- 


462  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

fute,  my  general  idiocy.  Physically,  therefore,  and  intel- 
lectually, he  looked  upon  me  as  below  notice ;  but,  monilly, 
he  assured  me  that  he  would  give  me  a  written  character 
of  the  very  best  description,  whenever  I  chose  to  apply  for 
it.  '  You're  honest,' he  said  ;  '  you're  willing,  though  lazy; 
you  would  pull,  if  you  had  the  strength  of  a  flea ;  and, 
though  a  monstrous  coward,  you  don't  run  away! '" 

The  family  now  lived  at  Greenhay,  a  handsome  resi- 
dence a  mile  or  so  from  Manchester,  and  the  two  boys,  on 
their  way  to  school,  had  to  pass  daily  by  a  cotton  mill. 
The  elder  brother,  with  uncontrollable  martial  propensities, 
stirred  up  a  feud  with  the  factory  boys,  which  led  every 
day  to  a  pitched  battle  with  stones.  As  commander-in- 
chief,  he  held  his  timid  brother  to  a  rigid  mihtary  obedi- 
ence. The  war  raged  with  varying  fortunes,  month  after 
month.  Though  sometimes  denounced  or  cashiered  for 
cowardice,  Thomas's  conduct  appeared  on  the  whole  com- 
mendable, and  before  his  eighth  year  he  was  elevated  by 
his  brother  to  the  rank  of  major-general.  For  some  three 
years  and  a  half  the  shy,  timid,  dreamy  boy,  subject  to  the 
mischievous  tyranny  of  his  brother,  knew  no  rest  day  or 
night.  It  was  only  when  his  brother  went  to  London-  to 
study  drawing,  that  he  once  more  regained  his  freedom. 

In  1796,  the  year  to  which  the  preceding  incidents  have 
brought  us,  De  Quincey  was  placed  in  the  public  school 
of  Bath,  a  town  to  which  his  mother  had  recently  removed. 
He  brought  to  his  new  surroundings  an  unusual  amount 
of  information  gathered  from  miscellaneous  reading.  In 
Latin  he  was  recognized  as  little  short  of  a  prodigy  and 
was  weekly  "  paraded  for  distinction  at  the  supreme  tri- 
bunal of  the  school."     The  result  may  easily  be  foreseen. 


THOMAS  DE    QUINCE Y.  463 

Some  of  his  jealous  comrades  inaugurated  what  he  de- 
scribed as  a  state  of  ''warfare  at  a  public  school."  He 
was  threatened  with  immediate  "  annihilation  "  ;  but  fortu- 
nately for  English  literature,  the  threat  was  never  carried 
out. 

He  next  spent  a  year  or  more  at  a  private  school  in 
Wiltshire,  the  chief  recommendation  of  which  was  its  re- 
ligious character.  He  disliked  the  school,  as  it  afforded 
only  a  narrow  field  for  the  display  of  his  attainments. 
Without  effort  he  stood  at  the  head.  His  attainments  in 
Greek  now  equalled  his  attainments  in  Latin.  "  At  thir- 
teen," he  says,  "  I  wrote  Greek  with  ease ;  and  at  fifteen 
my  command  of  that  language  was  so  great  that  I  not  only 
composed  Greek  verses  in  lyric  metres,  but  would  converse 
in  Greek  fluently  and  without  embarrassment."  This  flu- 
ency he  acquired  by  his  habit  of  turning  the  daily  papers 
into  Greek.  "That  boy,"  said  one  of  his  masters  to  a 
stranger,  "  that  boy  could  harangue  an  Athenian  mob  bet- 
ter than  you  or  I  could  address  an  English  one." 

The  year  1800  De  Ouincey  designates  as  the  period  of 
his  entry  into  the  world.  He  was  invited  by  Lord  West- 
fort,  a  young  friend  of  his  own  age,  to  accompany  him  on 
a  visit  to  Ireland.  The  various  experiences  of  the  next 
few  months  hfted  him  to  what  he  calls  "  premature  man- 
hood," for  he  was  yet  but  fifteen  years  of  age.  He  was 
invited  to  court  entertainments ;  he  passed  a  short  time  in 
"the  nation  of  London."  More  than  all,  he  met  on  a  boat 
a  young  lady  of  great  beauty  and  culture,  who  inspired 
him  with  a  new  and  uplifting  reverence  for  woman.  This 
incident  fixed,  as  he  thought,  a  great  era  of  change  in  his 
life.     "Ever  after,  throughout  the  period   of   youth,"  he 


464  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

said,  "  I  was  jealous  of  my  own  demeanor,  reserved  and 
awe-struck,  in  the  presence  of  woman  ;  reverencing  often 
not  so  much  tJieni  as  my  own  ideal  of  woman  latent  in 
them.  For  I  carried  about  with  me  the  idea,  to  which 
I  often  seemed  to  see  an  approximation,  of  — 

'  A  perfect  woman,  nobly  planned, 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command.' " 

After  spending  some  weeks  in  Ireland,  where  he  met  a 
number  of  the  most  distinguished  men  of  the  day,  he  re- 
turned to  England  and  passed  several  months  at  the  resi- 
dence of  Lady  Carbery,  an  intimate  friend  of  his  mother's. 
Chiefly  through  the  influence  of  De  Quincey's  mother, 
Lady  Carbery  had  become  deeply  interested  in  rehgion. 
Wishing  to  ground  herself  more  thoroughly  in  theological 
lore,  she  consulted  her  youthful  but  scholarly  friend.  She 
was  advised  to  study  the  Greek  Testament ;  and  under  his 
enthusiastic  tuition  she  made  rapid  progress.  She  called 
him  her  "Admirable  Crichton."  As  will  be  readily  under- 
stood, these  were  days  of  rapid  improvement  and  great 
happiness  to  De  Quincey  ;  and  when  he  left  the  park  gates 
of  Laxton,  it  was  not  without  forebodings  for  the  future. 

He  was  now,  late  in  1800,  placed  in  the  Manchester 
Grammar  School.  He  was  thoroughly  dissatisfied  with 
the  school ;  and  when  his  mother,  after  a  year  and  a  half, 
refused  to  listen  to  his  pleas  for  removal,  he  formed  the 
desperate  resolution  to  run  away.  He  went  to  Wales, 
where  he  tramped  over  the  country  at  will,  often,  for  the 
sake  of  economy,  sleeping  under  the  open  sky  and  dining 
on  the  blackberries  by  the  roadside.  At  length  growing 
tired  of  this  wandering  life,  which,  however,  was  not  with- 


THOMAS  DE    QUINCE Y.  465 

out  interesting  adventures,  he  determined  to  seek  his  for- 
tune in  London.  He  ceased  writing  to  his  mother;  and 
thus  depriving  himself  of  the  small  stipend  that  had  been 
allowed  him,  he  was  brought  to  the  verge  of  beggary  and 
starvation  in  the  great  metropolis.  The  incidents  of  his 
London  vagrancy  —  his  sleeping  on  the  straw  in  Brunell's 
office,  his  efforts  to  borrow  money,  and  his  acquaintance 
with  the  poor  outcast  Ann  of  Oxford  Street,  who  once 
saved  his  life  —  are  all  graphically  and  pathetically  told  in 
his  "  Confessions."  Finally  he  was  discovered  and  re- 
claimed by  his  friends. 

In  December,  1803,  De  Quincey  entered  Worcester 
College,  Oxford.  He  was  connected  with  the  university 
for  five  years,  but  finally  left  it  without  a  degree.  He  led 
a  life  of  great  retirement.  He  calculates  that  for  the  first 
two  years  he  spoke  less  than  a  hundred  words.  But  his 
morbid  seclusion  and  silence  were  not  spent  in  idleness. 
He  had  an  insatiable  thirst  for  reading  and  books ;  and  to 
increase  his  library  he  sorely  stinted  his  wardrobe.  He 
lamented  the  excessive  devotion  to  Latin  and  Greek,  and 
the  utter  neglect  of  English  literature  at  the  university. 
He  stoutly  maintained  the  superiority  of  modern  over 
ancient  literature.  "We  engage,"  he  said,  "to  produce 
many  scores  of  passages  from  Chaucer,  not  exceeding 
fifty  to  eighty  fines,  which  contain  more  of  picturesque 
simplicity,  more  tenderness,  more  fidelity  to  nature,  more 
felicity  of  sentiment,  more  animation  of  narrative,  and  more 
truth  of  character  than  can  be  matched  in  all  the  '  Iliad ' 
or  the  'Odyssey.'  " 

In  1808  he  left  Oxford,  to  which  he  professed  to  owe 
nothing.     Of  its  vast  riches  he  took  nothing  away.     Once 

2H 


466  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

seeking  relief  from  neuralgic  pain,  he  resorted  to  lauda- 
num ;  and,  like  Coleridge,  he  became  henceforth  an  opium 
fiend.  It  never  gained  quite  so  complete  a  mastery  over 
him  as  over  his  illustrious  contemporary ;  but  for  more 
than  fifty  years,  sometimes  in  enormous  quantities,  it  re- 
mained a  necessity  with  him.  He  became,  in  some  meas- 
ure, the  apologist  of  opium,  to  which  he  addresses  more 
than  one  eloquent  but  unpleasing  apostrophe. 

Before  his  connection  with  Oxford  ceased,  he  had  al- 
ready met  several  writers  destined  to  achieve  great  dis- 
tinction. On  one  of  his  frequent  visits  to  London,  he  met 
Charles  Lamb.  In  1807  he  met  Coleridge  and  Words- 
worth, to  whom  he  had  been  especially  attracted  by  the 
"  Lyrical  Ballads."  The  poems  in  this  volume  had  been 
to  him  as  "  the  ray  of  a  new  morning."  It  is  a  striking 
proof  of  his  literary  insight  and  courageous  independence 
that  he  championed  Wordsworth's  poetry  at  a  time  when 
it  was  almost  universally  decried. 

In  November,  1809,  De  Ouincey  took  up  his  residence 
at  Grasmere,  occupying  the  pretty  cottage  that  Words- 
worth had  just  left  for  Allan  Bank.  Here,  first  as  a 
bachelor  and  afterward  as  a  married  man,  he  lived  till  his 
removal  to  Edinburgh  in  1830.  He  devoted  himself  to 
study,  particularly  to  German  metaphysics,  with  great  as- 
siduity. He  associated  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  all  the 
other  celebrities  of  the  Lake  District,  including  Wordsworth, 
Coleridge,  Southey,  and  Wilson.  For  a  time  he  was  almost 
utterly  prostrated  from  the  use  of  opium.  A  quart  of 
ruby-colored  laudanum  in  a  decanter  and  a  book  of  Ger- 
man metaphysics  by  its  side  —  these  he  mentions  as  sure 
indications  of  his  being  in  the  neighborhood. 


THOMAS  DE    QUINCE  Y.  467 

In  his  "  Literary  Reminiscences,"  one  of  the  most  inter- 
esting volumes  of  his  collected  works,  De  Quincey  dwells 
principally  on  this  period  of  his  life.  Nowhere  else  do  we 
find  life  in  the  Lake  District  so  finely  portrayed.  The 
sketches  of  Coleridge  and  Wordsworth  are  extended  and 
exquisite  studies,  though  at  times  there  is  a  suggestion  of 
venom  in  his  treatment  of  these  great  writers.  His  early 
reverence  for  Wordsworth,  whose  hospitality  he  frequently 
enjoyed,  was  little  short  of  idolatry ;  but  in  later  years, 
owing  apparently  to  the  poet's  self-complacent  unrespon- 
siveness, De  Quincey  became  estranged  almost  to  the 
point  of  bitterness. 

The  inherited  means,  which  De  Quincey  had  hitherto 
lived  upon,  were  now  exhausted.  Under  the  stress  of 
domestic  necessities,  he  roused  himself,  by  a  prodigious 
effort,  from  the  intellectual  torpor  to  which  the  opium 
habit  had  reduced  him.  In  1821  he  began  his  literary 
career  with  his  "  Confessions  of  an  Opium-Eater,"  which 
appeared  in  the  London  Magazine  anonymously.  The 
"Confessions"  were  honestly  autobiographical;  and  be- 
sides many  interesting  facts  of  his  early  life,  they  told  of 
the  growing  power  of  the  terrible  drug,  and  described, 
in  passages  of  almost  incomparable  splendor,  the  nightly 
visions  that  came  to  him  waking  and  sleeping.  The  arti- 
cles, both  for  their  style  and  matter,  attracted  general  at- 
tention, and  opened  to  him  the  best  magazines  of  the  day. 
He  wrote  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  articles,  which  taken 
together,  with  the  exception  of  two  or  three  unimportant 
books,  constitute  his  literary  remains. 

In  1824  he  published  an  article  on  Goethe,  based  on 
Carlyle's  translation  of  "  Wilhelm  Meister."     The  article 


468  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

was  chiefly  an  onslaught  on  the  great  German,  who  was 
represented  as  a  tiresome  and  immoral  impostor.  But  the 
translator  himself  came  in  for  a  good  share  of  criticism, 
his  Scotticisms,  his  mistakes  in  German,  and  his  awkward 
prose  being  dwelt  upon.  The  review  accidentally  fell  into 
the  surly  Scotchman's  hands  ;  and  in  his  "  Reminiscences," 
where  he  speaks  of  the  matter,  he  more  than  quits  the 
score  with  a  sketch  in  aqua  fortis.  De  Quincey,  he  says, 
"  was  a  pretty  little  creature,  full  of  wire-drawn  ingenui- 
ties, bankrupt  enthusiasms,  bankrupt  pride,  with  the  finest 
silver-toned  low  voice,  and  most  elaborate  gently  winding 
courtesies  and  ingenuities  in  conversation.  ...  A  bright, 
ready,  and  melodious  talker,  but  in  the  end  inconclusive 
and  long-winded.  One  of  the  smallest  man  figures  I  ever 
saw  ;  shaped  like  a  pair  of  tongs,  and  hardly  above  five 
feet  in  all.  When  he  sate,  you  would  have  taken  him  by 
candlelight  for  the  beautif ullest  little  child ;  blue-eyed, 
sparkling  face,  had  there  not  been  something,  too,  which 
said,  '  Eccovi  — this  child  has  been  in  hell.'  " 

In  1825  De  Quincey  brought  out  "  Walladmor,"  which 
he  pronounced  "  the  most  complete  hoax  ever  perpetrated." 
At  this  period  there  was  a  great  demand,  not  only  in  Eng- 
land but  on  the  Continent,  for  the  Waverley  novels.  Ac- 
cordingly, when  no  new  work  of  Scott's  was  forthcoming 
in  1823,  a  German  writer  perpetrated  the  forgery  of 
"Walladmor" — a  long-winded  and  stupid  production. 
De  Quincey  gave  it  a  hasty  but  favorable  review,  and 
as  a  consequence  he  was  commissioned  to  translate  it. 
He  entered  upon  the  task ;  but  a  careful  examination 
showed  him  its  utter  worthlessness.  It  was  too  late,  how- 
ever, to  retreat.     And,  accordingly,  he  condensed  and  re- 


THOMAS  DE    QUINCEY.  469 

wrote  the  book,  reducing  the  three  German  vohimes  to 
two  slender  EngHsh  ones.  It  thus  became  a  forgery  upon 
a  forgery ;  but  seeing  the  humorous  side  of  the  thing, 
De  Ouincey  dedicated  his  pretended  translation  to  the 
German  author  in  a  preface  of  excellent  humor  and 
drollery. 

After  1826  his  literary  career  is  transferred  from  Lon- 
don to  Edinburgh.  Through  the  influence  of  Wilson, 
with  whom  he  had  roamed  over  the  valleys  and  mountains 
of  the  Lake  District,  he  became  a  contributor  to  Black- 
wood. Besides  articles  on  Lessing  and  Kant,  he  published 
in  1827  his  famous  essay  "On  Murder  Considered  as  One 
of  the  Fine  Arts."  It  is  a  piece  of  sustained  wit  and 
humor.  He  deals  with  murder  as  some  critics  deal  with 
literature  :  he  admits  that  morally  it  is  not  exactly  to  be 
approved  ;  but  "  when  tried  by  principles  of  taste,  it  turns 
out  sometimes  to  be  a  very  meritorious  performance." 

In  1830  De  Quincey  moved  his  family  to  Edinburgh, 
and  ten  years  later  he  occupied  the  cottage  of  Lasswade, 
a  few  miles  out  of  the  city.  His  life  was  now  one  of  al- 
most unintermitting  suffering  and  struggle.  In  1835  he 
lost  his  faithful  wife  Margaret,  to  whom  he  was  deeply 
attached,  and  who,  throughout  the  sore  trials  of  her  domes- 
tic life,  had  steadfastly  maintained  her  character  as  a  brave 
and  gentle  woman.  His  health  was  frequently  frail,  and 
at  times  he  succumbed  to  his  appetite  for  opium.  He 
avoided  society,  and  it  was  only  with  difficulty  that  he 
could  be  entrapped  for  a  dinner  party.  But  through  it 
all  he  continued  to  produce,  at  the  rate  of  half  a  dozen  a 
year,  that  marvellous  series  of  papers  that  have  given  him 
an  imperishable  place  in  English  literature.     Besides  those 


470  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

already  mentioned,  the  following  are  worthy  of  special 
attention  :  "  Suspiria  de  Profundis,"  "  The  English  Mail 
Coach,"  "Revolt  of  the  Tartars,"  "On  War,"  "Joan  of 
Arc,"  "Style,"  "Rhetoric,"  "Language." 

De  Quincey  rejects  the  common  opinion  that  style  is 
the  dress  of  thought.  To  him  it  is  something  far  more 
profound.  Adopting  a  happy  phrase  of  Wordsworth's,  he 
defines  style  as  "the  incarnation  of  thought."  He  be- 
stowed exceeding  care  on  his  composition.  He  had  an 
exquisite  sense  of  the  force  of  words  and  beauty  of  form. 
He  had  a  singularly  sensitive  ear  and  took  great  pains,  as 
he  tells  us,  not  only  to  avoid  cacophony,  but  also  to 
frrme  musical  sentences.  For  precision  in  the  use  of  lan- 
gu:;,^e  and  for  melody  in  the  structure  of  his  periods,  De 
Quincey  takes  high  rank  among  English  writers.  Less 
monotonous  than  Gibbon  or  Macaulay,  his  style  varies, 
according  to  the  changing  thought,  from  the  careless  ease 
of  colloquial  forms  to  the  sustained  grandeur  of  impas- 
sioned eloquence.  The  Dream  Fugue  in  "  The  Enghsh 
Mail  Coach  "  may  be  described  as  a  prose  poem. 

De  Quincey  did  not  begin  his  literary  career  until  his 
mind  was  well  stored  with  knowledge.  His  reading  cov- 
ered a  wide  field,  including  not  only  English  literature  and 
English  history,  but  also  Greek  and  Latin  literature,  Ger- 
man metaphysics,  and  a  whole  multitude  of  unusual  and 
nondescript  works.  His  well-kept  library  numbered  more 
than  five  thousand  volumes.  His  writings  cover  a  wide 
range  of  subjects  and  are  peculiarly  rich  in  their  allusions. 
History,  nature,  art,  poetry,  music,  are  all  called  upon  to 
grace  the  substantial  structure  of  his  thought.  His  vo- 
cabulary is  exceedingly  copious  ;  he  not  only  drew  on  the 


THOMAS  DE    QUINCE Y.  47 1 

native  Saxon  and  Latin  elements  of  our  language,  but 
ruthlessly  lugged  in  Latin,  Greek,  French,  German,  or 
whatever  other  tongue  furnished  him  with  a  fitting  phrase. 

To  De  Quincey  we  owe  an  interesting  distinction  in 
literature  —  one  that  is  readily  applicable  to  his  own  writ- 
ings. "There  is  first,"  he  says,  "the  literature  of  knowl- 
edge, and,  secondly,  the  literature  of  poiver.  The  function 
of  the  first  is  to  teacJi ;  the  function  of  the  second  is  to 
move :  the  first  is  a  rudder,  the  second  an  oar  or  a  sail. 
The  first  speaks  to  the  mere  discursive  understanding ;  the 
second  speaks  ultimately,  it  may  happen,  to  the  higher 
understanding  or  reason,  but  always  through  the  affections 
of  pleasure  and  sympathy."  To  this  latter  kind  of  litera- 
ture belong  those  works  of  De  Quincey  —  "  The  Confes- 
sions," "  Suspiria,"  "English  Mail  Coach,"  "Murder  as  a 
Fine  Art,"  "Joan  of  Arc,"  and  the  "Autobiographical 
Sketches"  and  "Literary  Reminiscences"  —  by  which 
he  will  retain  a  permanent  place  among  great  English 
writers. 

De  Quincey  can  hardly  be  classed  as  a  great  thinker. 
He  is  ingenious  and  graceful  rather  than  profound.  He 
rarely  submitted  to  the  restraints  of  a  strict  logical  method. 
His  digressions  are  as  frequent  as  those  of  Coleridge,  but 
are  held  under  better  control :  instead  of  running  entirely 
away  with  him,  they  always  return,  and  sometimes  felici- 
tously, to  the  main  subject  in  hand.  He  is  conscious  of 
his  digressive  style  and  sometimes  makes  humorous  refer- 
ence to  it.  In  his  essay  "  On  War,"  after  being  switched 
off  for  a  couple  of  pages,  he  returns  to  the  main  line  of 
thought  with  the  remark  :  "  This  digression,  now,  on  anec- 
dotes, is  what  the  learned  call  an  excursus,  and  I  am  afraid 


472  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

too  long  by  half — not  strictly  in  proportion.  But  don't 
mind  that.  I'll  make  it  all  right  by  being  too  short  upon 
something  else  at  the  next  opportunity ;  and  then  nobody 
can  complain." 

De  Quincey's  life  was  preeminently  intellectual. 
"  Without  breach  of  truth  or  modesty,"  he  says,  "I  may 
affirm  that  my  life  has  been,  on  the  whole,  the  life  of  a 
philosopher  ;  from  my  birth  I  was  made  an  intellectual 
creature ;  and  intellectual  in  the  highest  sense  my  pur- 
suits and  pleasures  have  been,  even  from  my  school-boy 
days."  Even  his  irrepressible  humor  has  an  eminently 
intellectual  flavor.  De  Quincey  was  not,  like  Carlyle,  a 
great  moral  force  in  the  world.  While  capable  of  deep 
affection,  he  was  not  subject  to  violent  outbursts  of  indig- 
nation at  the  sight  of  evil.  He  did  not  set  himself  up  as  a 
reformer.  "  I  am  too  much  of  a  eudsemonist,"  he  said ; 
"  I  hanker  too  much  after  a  state  of  happiness  for  my- 
self and  others."  He  sought  refuge  from  the  hard  con- 
flicts of  the  world  in  the  retirement  of  his  study.  He 
tried  to  smooth  the  path  of  life  by  tireless  courtesies  of 
manner  and  speech.  He  possessed  in  an  eminent  degree 
"the  grace  of  perfect  breeding,  everywhere  persuasive, 
and  nowhere  emphatic." 

His  death,  which  occurred  Dec.  8,  1859,  was  calm 
and  beautiful.  His  mind  seemed  to  revert  to  his  early 
associations.  At  the  last  his  heart  asserted  its  supremacy 
over  the  intellect,  and  his  last  act  was  to  throw  up  his  arms 
and  exclaim,  as  if  with  a  cry  of  surprised  recognition, 
"  Sister,  sister,  sister !  "  Perhaps  it  was  a  vision  of  his 
dearly  loved  sister  Elizabeth,  dead  nearly  seventy  years 
before,  who  had  now  come  to  lead  him  beyond  the  river. 


VICTORIAN   AGE. 


'>i^. 


^-  PRINCIPAL   WRITERS.         /rr^^ 


i  Novelists. ^^E"d\vard  Bulwer,  Lord  Lytton  (1805-1873).  Volumi- 
Ht)us  and  popular  novelist  and  dramatist;  author  of  -'Eugene  Aram" 
(1831),  "The  Last  Days  of  Pompeii"  (1834),  "Last  of  the  Barons" 
(1843),  "The  Caxtons"  (1849),  "My  Novel"  (1853),  etc.  "The 
Lady  of  Lyons  "  and  "  Richelieu"  are  two  of  the  best  modern  dramas. 
/'"Benjamin  Disraeli,  Earl  of  Beaconsfield  (1804-1881).  Statesman 
and  novelist ;  author  of  "Vivian  Grey  "  (1827),  "Coningsby"  (1844), 
"Lothair'"  (1870),  "  Endymion  "  (1881),  and  many  others. 
I,  Charles  Kingsley  (1819-1875).  Clergyman,  poet,  and  novelist; 
Author  of  "  Alton  Locke"  (1849),  "Hypatia"  (1853),  "Westward  Ho" 
(1855),  "  Hereward  the  Wake  "  (1866),  etc. 

^Frederick  Marryat  (1792-1848).  Novelist  of  nautical  adventure, 
who  is  unsurpassed  in  his  sphere.  "  Peter  Simple,"  "Jacob  Faithful." 
and  "Mr.  Midshipman  Easy"  are  perhaps  his  best.  Other  novels  are 
"The  Phantom  Ship"  (1839),  "Masterman  Ready"  (1841),  "The  Pri- 
vateersman  "  (1844),  and  many  more. 

Anthony  Trollope  (181 5-1882).  One  of  the  most  voluminous  of  all 
novelists;  author  of  "The  Warden"  (1855),  "  Barchester  Towers" 
(1857),  "  Framley  Parsonage  "  (i860),  "  Can  You  Forgive  Her  "  (1864), 
"Phineas  Finn"  (1869),  etc. 

£harles  Reade  (1S14-1884).  Author  of  "Peg  Woffington"  (1852), 
"It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend"  (1856),  "The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth" 
(1861),  etc. 

.  \Vilkie  Collins  ( 1 824-1 S89).  Author  of  numerous  novels,  among 
which  are  "  The  Woman  in  White  "  (i860),  "  No  Name  "  (1862),  "  The 
Moonstone  "  (1868),  "  iMan  and  Wife  "  (1870),  etc.  Some  of  his  novels 
have  been  dramatized. 

/^-RoGert  Louis  Stevenson  (1845-1894).  Novelist  of  the  new  romantic 
school;  author  of  "  Virginibus  Puerisque  "  (1881),  "Treasure  Island" 

473 


474  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

(1883),  "Prince  Otto"  (1885),  "Kidnapped"  (1886),  "The  Master  of 
Ballantrae"  (1889). 

Dinah  Maria  Craik  (i  826-1 888).  Author  of  many  novels,  preeminent 
among  which  are  "John  Halifax,  Gentleman"  and  "A  Life  for  a  Life" 
(1859).  Others  are  "Mistress  and  Maid"  (1863),  "A  Noble  Life" 
(1866),  "The  Woman's  Kingdom"  (1869),  etc. 

Poetry. — Arthur  Hugh  Clough  (1819-1861)  :  "The  Bothie  of 
Tober-na-Vuolich "  (1848)  and  "Depsychus"  (1862).  A  poet  of  doubt, 
who  "  has  neither  the  strength  to  believe  nor  the  courage  to  disbelieve." 

Lord  Lytton  ("Owen  Meredith")  (1831-1892).  Statesman,  novelist, 
and  poet;  author  of  the  following  poetical  works:  "Clytemnestra" 
(1855),  "The  Wanderer"  (1859),  "  Lucile  "  (i860),  "Fables  in  Song," 
and  several  others. 

;,  William  Morris  (1834-1896).  Novelist  and  poet.  His  principal 
poetical  works  are  "The  Defence  of  Guinevere"  (1858),  "The  Life 
and  Death  of  Jason  "  (1867),  "The  Earthly  Paradise"  (1868-1871), 
"Love  is  Enough  "  (1873). 

I.  Algernon  Charles  Swinburne  (1837-).  Poet,  dramatist,  and  critic; 
author  of  "Atalanta  in  Calydon  :  a  Tragedy"  (1865),  "Poems  and 
Ballads"  (1866),  "Siena:  a  Poem"  (1868),  "Songs  Before  Sunrise" 
(1871),  "Poems  and  Ballads"  (1878),  "Songs  of  the  Spring  Tides" 
(i88p),  and  many  others. 

j/Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti  (i 828-1 882).  Artist  and  poet;  author  of 
"The  Blessed  Damozel"  (1848),  "Sister  Helen"  (1851),  "Early 
Italian  Poets"  (1861),  "Poems"  (1870-1882).  Rossetti,  Swinburne, 
and  Morris  are  the  chief  representatives  of  the  romantic  spirit  in  the 
poetry  of  the  Victorian  Age. 

Henry  Austin  Dobson  (1840-).  Poet  and  critic;  author  of  " Vig- 
nettes in  Rhyme"  (1873),  "Proverbs  in  Porcelain"  (1877),  "At  the 
Sign  of  the  Lyre"  (1885),  etc. 

Andrew  Lang  (1844-).  Poet  and  prose  writer  ;  author  of  "  Ballads 
in  Blue  China"  (1881),  "Rhymes  a  la  Mode"  (1884),  "Ballads  of 
Books"  (1888).  Among  his  prose  writings  are  "Custom  and  Myth" 
(1884)  and  "Myth,  Ritual,  and  Religion"  (1887). 
/  Edwin  Arnold  (1832-).  Sanskrit  scholar,  editor,  and  poet;  author 
of  "The  Light  of  Asia"  (1878),  "Pearls  of  the  Faith"  (1882),  "The 
Song  Celestial"  (1885),  and  '-The  Light  of  the  World"  (1891). 

William  Watson  (1844-).  Poet,  and  author  of  "The  Prince's 
Guest"  (1880),  "Wordsworth's  Grave"  (1889),  and  "Poems"  (1892). 


\4o 


.  VICTORIAN  AGE.  475 

|;^lHfsTORY.  —  George  Grote  (1794-1871).  Member  of  Parliament, 
an  extreme  Liberal  in  politics,  and  author  of  an  excellent  "  History  of 
Greece"  (1846-1856),  and  intended  as  an  antidote  to  Mitford. 

Connop  Thirlwall  (1797-1875).  Bishop  of  St.  David's,  and  author 
of  a  "History  of  Greece"  (1835-1847),  likewise  written  from  a  Liberal 
point  of  view.     This  work,  as  well  as  that  by  Grote.  is  standard. 

Henry  Hart  Milman  (i  791-1868).  Dean  of  St.  Paul's,  and  author 
of  a  "History  of  the  Jews"  (1829),  "History  of  Latin  Christianity" 
(1854).  In  addition  to  his  excellent  histories,  he  edited  Gibbon,  and 
published  a  few  poems. 

^'^mes  A.  Froude  (1818-1894).  Essayist  and  historian;  author  of 
a  "History  of  England "  (1856-1869),  "The  English  in  Ireland" 
(1871-1874),  "Short  Studies  on  Great  Subjects"  (1867),  "Life  of 
Carlyle  "  (1884) .  One  of  the  most  interesting  of  historians,  but  some- 
times inaccurate. 

^x-'fidward  Augustus  Freeman  (i 823-1 892).  A  voluminous  historian; 
authoTor^A^lIist'or'}'  brArchitecture "  (1849),  "History  of  the  Sara- 
cens" (1856),  "History  of  the  Norman  Conquest"  (1867-1879), 
"Growth  of  the  English  Constitution"  (1872),  and  many  other  works, 
all  distinguished  for  careful  statement. 

W.  E.  H.  Lecky  (1838-).  Philosophic  historian  ;  author  of  "  Leaders 
of  Public  Opinion  in  Ireland"  (1861),  "History  of  Rationalism  in  Eu- 
rope" (1865),  "History  of  European  Morals"  (1869),  and  a  "History 
of  England  in  the  Eighteenth  Century"  (i  878-1 890). 

Jolm  Richard  Green  ( 1 837-1 883) .  Clergyman,  and  author  of  "  Short 
History  of  the  English  People  "  (1874),  "  History  of  the  English  People  " 
(1878-1880),  a  work  in  four  volumes,  and  "The  Making  of  England" 
(1882).     All  are  admirable  works. 

Thomas  Arnold  (1795-1842).  Clergyman,  head-master  of  Rugby, 
and  author  of  five  volumes  of  sermons,  an  edition  of  Thucydides,  and 
a  "  History  of  Rome  "  in  three  volumes. 

Sir  Archibald  Alison  (1792-1867).  Lawyer  and  historian;  author 
of  "History  of  Europe"  (1839-1859).  "  Life  of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough" 
(1847).  etc.  His  "History  of  Europe"  is  interesting  rather  than  pro- 
found. 

Science  and  Philosophy.  —  Charles  parwj£  (1809-1882).  Emi- 
nent naturalist;  author  of  "Journal  of  Researches"  (i 839-1 845), 
"Origin  of  Species"  (1859),  "Descent  of  Man"  (1871),  etc.  His  writ- 
ings have  exerted  an  immense  influence  on  modern  thought. 


476  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

^Herbert  Spencer  (1820-).  The  ablest  of  evolutionist  philosophers; 
autlior'oT^'PrincipIes  of  Psychology  "  (1855),  "  First  Principles  "  (1862), 
"Principles  of  Biology"  (1867),  "Principles  of  Psychology"  (1872), 
"The  Study  of  Sociology  "  (1872),  etc. 

4- Thomas  Henry  Huxley  (i 825-1 895).  Biologist,  lecturer,  and 
essayist;  author  of  "Oceanic  Hydrozoa"  (1859),  "Man's  Place  in 
Nature"  (1863),  "Lay  Sermons"  (1870),  "Introduction  to  the  Classifi- 
cation of  Animals"  (1877).  "Science,  Culture,  and  Other  Essays"  (1882), 
etc.     He' has  done  much  to  popularize  scientific  knowledge. 

^John  Stuart  Mill  (1806-1873).  Editor,  essayist,  and  philosopher; 
author  of  a  "  System  of  Logic"  (1843),  "Political  Economy"  (1848), 
"  Representative  Government"  (i860),  "Subjection  of  Women"  (1869), 
"Examination  of  Hamilton's  Philosophy"  (1865),  etc. 

Sir  William  Hamilton  (1788-1856).  One  of  the  ablest  Scotch 
metaphysicians  ;  author  of  "'  Discussions  in  Philosophy,  Literature,  and 
Education"  (1853),  "Lectures  on  Metaphysics  and  Logic,"  pubhshed 
after  his  death. 

Hugh  Miller  (1802-1856).  Geologist  and  able  writer;  author  of 
"Old  Red  Sandstone"  (1841),  "Footprints  of  the  Creator,"  "My 
Schools  and  Schoolmasters,"  and  "Testimony  of  the  Rocks."  the  last 
being  an  attempt  to  reconcile  geology  and  Genesis. 

GREAT   REPRESENTATIVE   WRITERS. 

Thomas  Babington  Macaulay.  ;  Robert  Browning. 

Charlotte  Bronte.  /    Alfred  Tennyson. 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray.  Thomas  Carlyle. 

Charles  Dickens.  i     Matthew  Arnold. 

George  Eliot.  '    John  Ruskin. 

I    Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 


VIII. 
VICTORIAN    AGE. 

(1832-1900.) 

Grandeur  of  the  age  —  Inventions  —  Notable  era — Scientific  inves- 
tigation —  Practical  tendencies  —  Educational  advancement  —  Peri- 
odical press — ^International  relations — Political  progress  —  Social 
improvement  —  Religion  and  philanthropy  —  Creative  and  diffusive 
literature  —  Essay  writing —  History  —  Fiction  —  Realism  and  ro- 
manticism —  Poetry  —  Thomas  Babington  Macaulay  —  Char- 
lotte Bronte  —  William  Makepeace  Thackeray  —  Charles 
Dickens — George  Eliot  —  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning  — 
Robert  Browning  —  Alfred  Tennyson — Thomas  Carlyle — 
Matthew  Arnold  —  John  Ruskin. 

It  may  be  safely  claimed  that  upon  the  whole  there  has 
been  no  grander  age  in  the  history  of  the  world.  It  may 
lack,  as  some  are  disposed  to  claim,  the  aesthetic  culture 
of  the  Age  of  Pericles,  the  great  martial  spirit  of  ancient 
Rome,  the  lofty  ideals  of  the  age  of  chivalry.  But  as  we 
compare  the  conditions  of  the  present  day  with  those  of 
any  period  of  the  past,  who  can  doubt  the  fact  of  human 
progress  ?  The  world  has  grown  into  a  liberty,  intelli- 
gence, happiness,  and  morality  unknown  at  any  previous 
time.  To  be  sure,  the  golden  age  has  not  been  reached ; 
that  lies,  and  perhaps  far  distant,  in  the  future.  Many 
evils  in  society,  in  the  state,  and  in  the  church  need  to  be 
corrected.  But  the  advancement  during  the  present  cen- 
tury, and  particularly  during  the  reign  of  Queen  Victoria, 
has  been  marvellously  rapid. 

477 


478  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

If  we  think  of  the  wonderful  improvements  in  the 
mechanic  arts,  we  recognize  this  period  as  an  age  of 
invention.  Within  a  few  decades  are  comprised  more 
numerous  and  more  important  inventions  than  are  found 
in  many  preceding  centuries  talcen  together.  Social  and 
industrial  life  has  been  thoroughly  revolutionized.  Think 
of  the  wonders  accomplished  by  steam  !  It  has  supplied  a 
new  motive  power,  accelerated  travel,  and  built  up  manu- 
facturing inland  towns  and  cities.  Electricity  is  at  pres- 
ent accomplishing  scarcely  less.  It  carries  our  messages, 
lights  our  cities,  and  runs  our  street  railways.  The  capac- 
ity of  the  printing-press  has  been  vastly  increased.  While 
the  sewing-machine  has  taken  the  place  of  the  needle  in  the 
house,  the  reaper  and  the  mowing-machine  have  supplanted 
the  sickle  and  the  scythe  in  the  field.  The  breech-loading 
and  repeating  rifle  has  driven  out  the  muzzle-loading  flint- 
lock. 

These  are  but  a  few  of  the  inventions  belonging  to  the 
Victorian  Age.  "A  reign,"  says  Justin  McCarthy,  "which 
saw  in  its  earher  years  the  application  of  the  electric  cur- 
rent to  the  task  of  transmitting  messages,  the  first  success- 
ful attempts  to  make  use  of  steam  for  the  business  of 
transatlantic  navigation,  the  general  development  of  the 
railway  system  all  over  these  countries,  and  the  introduc- 
tion of  the  penny-post,  must  be  considered  to  have  ob- 
tained for  itself,  had  it  secured  no  other  memorials,  an 
abiding  place  in  history."  Many  a  man  still  living  has 
seen  the  entire  system  of  manufacturing,  travel,  agricul- 
ture, and  transmission  of  inteUigence  completely  changed, 
witnessing  a  greater  transformation  than  if  he  had  lived 
through  the  preceding  five  centuries. 


VICTOMAN  AGE. 


479 


The  present  period  is  an  age  of  scientific  investigation 
and  progress.  The  Baconian  spirit  prevails ;  and  investi- 
gation—  systematic,  minute,  and  prolonged  —  has  taken 
the  place  of  empty  speculation.  In  the  presence  of  rapid 
changes,  tradition  has  lost  much  of  its  power ;  and  with 
their  growing  intelligence  men  are  less  willing  to  be  guided 
by  mere  authority.  Careful  and  patient  toilers  are  at  work 
in  every  department  of  learning  ;  and  nature,  questioned  as 
never  before,  is  gradually  yielding  up  her  secrets.  All 
the  natural  sciences  —  physics,  zoology,  botany,  geology, 
chemistry,  physiology,  astronomy  —  have  been  wonderfully 
expanded;  Faraday,  Tyndall,  Darwin,  Spencer,  and  others 
are  honored  names  in  natural  science. 

The  same  patient  methods  of  investigation  are  applied 
to  the  study  of  the  mind,  the  origin  of  man,  the  history  of 
the  past.  The  theory  of  evolution,  sometimes  with  greater 
or  less  modification,  has  been  generally  accepted,  and,  like 
the  law  of  gravitation  or  the  Copernican  system,  has  greatly 
changed  our  views  of  nature  and  of  history.  Many  old 
beliefs  have  been  modified  or  destroyed ;  but  the  general 
result  has  been  to  give  us  greater  breadth  of  thought  and 
a  clearer  insight  into  the  laws  of  God. 

This  is  preeminently  a  practical  age,  aiming  at  visible 
results.  The  vast  resources,  which  science  and  invention 
have  placed  at  our  command,  are  applied  in  various  ways 
to  the  comfort  and  well-being  of  man.  The  material 
wealth  of  every  country  is  being  developed  ;  and  daring 
explorers,  supported  by  private  enterprise  or  royal  bounty, 
are  sent  to  examine  unknown  regions.  Every  effort  is  put 
forth  to  make  living  less  costly  and  more  comfortable.  No 
doubt,  as  is  pointed  out  sometimes,  this  practical  tendency 


48o  ENGLISH  LITTER ATURE. 

goes  too  far,  subjecting  aesthetic  and  spiritual  interests  to 
material  ends.  The  ideal  is,  in  too  great  a  degree,  ban- 
ished from  life.  But,  in  spite  of  these  facts,  the  practical 
tendency  of  our  age  deserves  to  be  considered  one  of  its 
many  claims  to  superiority. 

It  is  an  age  of  educational  advancement.  In  England 
as  elsewhere,  schools  of  every  class  have  been  multiplied, 
and  education  has  been  brought  within  the  reach  of  the 
common  people.  The  methods  of  instruction  are  more 
nearly  conformed  to  the  nature  of  the  child,  and  the  sub- 
jects of  study  are  designed  to  fit  the  pupil  for  the  duties 
of  practical  hfe.  In  higher  education  the  change  is  no 
less  remarkable ;  the  traditional  curriculum,  consisting 
largely  of  Latin  and  Greek,  has  been  greatly  expanded, 
and  subjects  of  immediate  practical  importance  —  the  mod- 
ern languages,  natural  and  political  science,  the  mother 
tongue,  and  history — receive  increased  attention.  Women 
now  have  the  advantages  of  higher  education,  either  in 
separate  or  in  coeducational  colleges. 

Intelligence  was  never  so  generally  diffused.  The  pe- 
riodical press  exerts  an  immense  influence.  Great  dailies 
spread  before  the  people  every  morning  the  news  of  the 
world.  Monthly  magazines  and  reviews,  unsurpassed  in 
tasteful  form  and  literary  excellence,  have  been  greatly 
multiplied.  They  powerfully  stimulate  literary  activity, 
while  cultivating  the  taste,  intelligence,  and  character 
of  the  people.  They  are  often  the  original  vehicles,  not 
only  for  what  is  best  in  fiction,  poetry,  and  criticism,  but 
also  for  what  is  most  interesting  in  science  and  history. 

The  present  is  an  age  of  close  international  relations. 
Submarine  cables  and  fleet   steamers   bring   the  various 


VICTORIAN  AGE.  48 1 

nations  of  the  earth  close  together.  They  are  united  by 
commercial  interests.  They  share  in  common  social,  in- 
dustrial, scientific,  and  literary  interests ;  and  what  is  true 
of  England  in  these  particulars  is  substantially  true  of 
America  or,  in  a  less  degree,  of  France,  or  of  Germany. 
Christendom  has  become  more  homogeneous ;  culture  is 
more  cosmopolitan.  With  a  clearer  knowledge  of  one 
another,  and  with  common  interests  fostered  by  commerce, 
the  nations  of  the  earth  have  developed  kindlier  feelings. 
From  time  to  time  they  unite  in  great  expositipns  of  their 
choicest  products,  and  settle  minor  differences  by  diplo- 
macy or  arbitration. 

It  is  a  time  of  political  progress.  The  democratic  prin- 
ciples, announced  and  defended  in  America  and  France 
at  the  close  of  the  last  century,  have  become  generally 
diffused.  It  is  now  commonly  recognized  that  govern- 
ments exist,  not  for  sovereigns  or  favored  classes,  but 
for  the  people.  New  reform  bills  have  greatly  extended 
the  right  of  suffrage  in  England,  the  elective  franchise 
being  extended,  in  certain  cases,  even  to  women.  The 
science  of  government  is  better  understood,  and  legisla- 
tive enactments  have  become  more  intelligent  and  equi- 
table. The  public  administration  has  become  purer.  If 
bribery,  self-aggrandizement,  and  dishonesty  still  exist, 
these  evils  are  much  less  frequent  than  in  former  ages. 
Public  men  live  in  the  light  and  are  held  accountable 
at  the  bar  of  public  opinion. 

The  present  period  is  an  era  of  social  progress.     The 

increased  facilities  of  production  have  greatly  cheapened 

the  necessaries  of  life.     Wages  have  generally  increased  ; 

and  the  poor,  as  well   as  the  rich,  live  better  than  ever 
2  I 


482  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

before.  Women  enjoy  greater  advantages.  But,  at  the 
same  time,  there  is  great  social  unrest.  Many  beheve 
that  the  existing  economic  conditions  are  not  final. 
Wasteful  wealth  sometimes  exists  by  the  side  of  starving 
poverty.  Gigantic  combinations  of  capital,  which  often 
abuse  their  power  to  wrong  the  people,  are  commonly 
recognized  as  a  serious  evil.  Great  attention  is  given  to 
the  study  of  economic  and  sociological  questions,  which 
are  treated,  not  only  in  scientific,  but  also  in  fictitious, 
works. 

The  religious  advancement  of  the  period  under  con- 
sideration is  specially  noteworthy.  The  conflict  between 
dogma  and  science,  which  at  times  has  been  sharp,  has 
not  been  prejudicial  to  Christianity.  Superstition  has 
become  a  thing  of  the  past,  and  the  emphasis  of  religious 
teaching  is  now  centred  upon  fundamental  and  practical 
truths.  The  Gospel  is  looked  upon  as  a  rule  of  life  for 
the  present  world,  and  Christ  is  becoming  more  and  more 
the  conscious  ideal  of  men.  The  ascqtic  spirit  has  given 
place  to  an  active  spirit,  which  finds  the  highest  service 
of  God  in  bravely  meeting  the  duties  of  everyday  life. 
The  asperities  of  religious  sects  are  softening ;  Jews 
as  well  as  Roman  Catholics  are  admitted  to  Parliament ; 
religious  tests  are  abolished  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge ; 
Dissenters,  since  1880,  have  had  the  right  to  bury  in  the 
public  churchyards  with  their  own  religious  services.  The 
Evangelical  Alliance  and  the  Young  Men's  Christian  As- 
sociation are  the  practical  manifestation  of  the  general 
tendency  toward  closer  union  and  cooperation  among 
Christian  people. 

In  harmony  with  the  practical   tendencies  of  the  age, 


VICTORIAN  AGE.  483 

religion  has  become  more  benevolent  in  its  activities.  The 
fatherhood  of  God  and  the  brotherhood  of  man  are  appre- 
ciated as  never  before.  The  church  is  active  in  mission- 
ary work  at  home  and  abroad.  It  is  prominent  in  every 
work  that  seeks  to  relieve  the  unfortunate  and  reclaim 
the  lost.  The  treatment  of  the  unfortunate  and  the 
criminal  classes  is  more  humane.  The  insane  are  no 
longer  chained  in  loathsome  cells,  the  unfortunate  debtor 
is  not  thrown  into  jail,  the  petty  criminal  is  not  hanged. 
The  church  seeks  to  bring  a  pure  and  benevolent  spirit 
to  the  settlement  of  the  great  social  and  political  problems 
of  the  day. 

The  foregoing  survey  of  present  conditions,  as  they 
exist  in  England  and  elsewhere,  enables  us  to  understand 
more  fully  the  literary  character  of  the  Victorian  Age. 
It  will  be  recognized  that  this  period  has  been  exceedingly 
favorable  to  general  literature.  The  rich  and  varied  life 
of  the  English  people  has  been  reflected  in  their  writing. 
If  we  seek  to  characterize  this  period  on  its  literary  side, 
we  may  designate  it  as  creative  and  diffusive.  New  fields 
of  thought  have  been  opened  up ;  new  questions  have 
been  brought  before  society ;  and  the  interests  of  life  — 
social,  religious,  industrial,  scientific  —  have  been  enor- 
mously multiplied.  Never  before,  if  we  except  the  drama, 
was  English  literature  so  rich  and  so  varied.  In  style 
there  has  been  a  return  to  nature  ;  at  the  same  time  there 
has  been  an  artistic  finish,  particularly  in  prose,  unknown 
in  previous  eras. 

With  the  establishment  of  many  periodicals,  essay  writ- 
ing has  attained  a  new  importance  and  excellence.  In 
the  days  of  Addison  and  Johnson,  the  essay  was  devoted 


484  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

chiefly  to  brief  discussions  of  light  social  and  moral  topics. 
The  great  critics  of  the  Age  of  Scott  were  usually  pon- 
derous. But  at  present,  in  the  form  of  popular  reviews 
and  magazine  articles,  the  essay  deals  with  every  subject 
of  interest  or  importance.  The  scholar,  the  scientist,  the 
philosopher,  the  historian,  each  uses  the  periodical  press 
to  set  forth  the  results  of  his  studies  and  investigations. 
Our  leading  magazines  and  reviews  register  the  successive 
stages  of  human  progress;  and  without  an  acquaintance 
with  their  contents,  it  is  difficult  to  keep  fully  abreast  with 
the  times. 

A  notable  advance  is  discernible  in  the  writing  of  his- 
tory. Greater  prominence  is  given  to  the  social  condition 
of  the  people.  The  sources  of  information  have  been 
greatly  enlarged,  and  historians  are  expected  to  base  their 
statements  on  trustworthy  data.  Besides,  a  philosophy  of 
history  has  been  recognized.  Greater  attention  is  given 
to  the  moving  causes  of  events  and  to  the  general  ten- 
dencies in  national  life.  With  this  greater  trustworthiness 
and  more  philosophic  treatment,  history  has  lost  nothing 
of  its  excellence  of  style.  If  it  has  given  up  the  uniform 
statehness  of  Robertson  and  Gibbon,  it  has  become  more 
graphic,  more  varied,  and  more  interesting. 

No  other  department  of  literature  has  shown  a  richer 
development  during  the  present  period  than  fiction.  It 
occupies  the  place  filled  by  the  drama  during  the  Eliza- 
bethan period.  The  plot  is  skilfully  conducted ;  the  char- 
acters represent  every  class  of  society ;  the  thoughts  are 
often  the  deepest  of  which  our  nature  is  capable.  Fiction  is 
no  longer  simply  a  means  of  amusement.  Without  laying 
aside  its  artistic  character,  it  has  become  in  great  measure 


VICTORIAN  AGE.  485 

didactic.  In  the  form  of  historical  romance,  it  seeks  to 
reproduce  in  a  vivid  manner  the  thoughts,  feeUngs,  and 
customs  of  other  ages.  The  novel  of  contemporary  life 
often  holds  up  to  view  the  foibles  and  vices  of  modern 
society.  In  many  cases  fiction  is  made  the  means  of  popu- 
larizing various  social,  religious,  and  pohtical  views. 

During  the  Victorian  Age  there  has  been  a  notable  re- 
action, generally  called  realism,  against  the  romanticism 
of  the  earlier  part  of  the  century.  The  scientific  spirit  of 
the  time  became  dissatisfied  with  the  fanciful  pictures  of 
past  ages  and  with  the  impossibilities  of  wild  romance. 
Realism,  as  the  term  indicates,  adheres  to  reality.  Dis- 
carding what  is  idealistic  or  unreal  in  characters  and 
situations,  it  aims  at  being  true  to  life.  All  the  greatest 
novelists  of  this  period — Dickens,  Thackeray,  George 
Eliot  —  were,  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word,  realists. 
Their  works  present  a  striking  contrast  with  those  of 
Scott,  who  was  the  prince  of  romanticists. 

As  an  effort  to  represent  life  as  it  is,  we  must  acknowl- 
edge the  worth  of  realism.  In  its  proper  application,  it 
places  the  novel  on  an  immovable  basis.  Like  Shake- 
speare's plays,  it  holds  the  mirror  up  to  nature.  Unfortu- 
nately, the  realistic  writers  have  not,  in  many  cases,  been 
true  to  their  fundamental  principles.  The  great  conti- 
nental leaders  of  realism  —  Tolstoi,  Zola,  Ibsen  —  have 
been  tainted  with  a  fatal  pessimism.  Realists  of  this  type 
seem  to  see  only  one  side  of  life  —  the  darker  side  of  sin, 
and  wretchedness,  and  despair.  They  often  descend  to 
what  is  coarse,  impure,  obscene.  No  doubt  their  pictures 
are  true,  as  far  as  they  go ;  but  the  fatal  defect  of  their 
work  is  that  it  does  not  reflect  life  as  a  whole.     It  does 


486  ENGLISH  LIT  ERA  TURE. 

not  portray  the  pure  and  noble  and  happy  side  of  life, 
which  is  just  as  real  as  the  other. 

Except  in  the  hands  of  genius,  realism  is  apt  to  be  dull. 
It  gives  us  uninteresting  photographs.  There  are  times 
when  we  do  not  so  much  care  for  instruction  as  for  amuse- 
ment and  recreation.  This  fact  opens  a  legitimate  field 
for  the  imaginative  story-teller.  There  is  to-day  a  decided 
reaction  against  realism  in  the  form  of  what  has  been 
called  the  new  romanticism.  It  does  not  present  to  us 
elaborate  studies  of  life,  but  entertains  us  with  an  inter- 
esting or  exciting  story.  The  leaders  of  this  movement  in 
England  are  Doyle,  Stevenson,  Weyman,  and  Hope,  whose 
works  in  recent  years  have  been  widely  read. 

As  might  be  expected  from  the  practical  tendencies  of 
the  time,  poetry  is  less  prominent  in  literature  than  in 
some  previous  periods.  But  it  has  had  not  a  few  illustri- 
ous devotees,  who  stand  out  with  prominence  in  the  Vic- 
torian era.  There  are,  perhaps,  no  names  that  stand 
higher  than  those  of  Tennyson  and  Browning.  Poetry 
partakes  of  the  many-sided  character  of  the  age.  While 
the  poetic  imagery  inherited  from  Greece  and  Rome  has 
been  swept  away  by  the  progress  of  science,  poetry  itself 
has  gained  in  variety  and  depth.  It  treats  with  equal 
facility  the  present  and  the  past.  It  voices  the  manifold 
interests  and  aspirations  of  the  age  —  social,  political, 
scientific,  religious.  Never  before  did  the  stream  of  poe- 
try have  such  volume  and  power ;  and  if  sometimes,  as  in 
Clough  and  Matthew  Arnold,  it  has  been  lacking  in  faith 
and  cheer,  it  has  in  the  main  borne  to  men  a  message 
of  hope,  courage,  and  truth. 

While  in  large  measure  realistic,   poetry  has  not   cast 


VICTORIAN  AGE.  487 

aside  its  ideal  character.  Modern  progress  in  culture  has 
placed  it  on  a  high  vantage  ground  —  far  in  advance  of  all 
the  preceding  ages ;  and  from  this  new  position  its  pene- 
trating vision  pierces  farther  into  the  realms  of  unexplored 
and  undiscovered  truth.  With  its  present  expansion  in 
thought  and  feeling,  poetry  has  naturally  assumed  new 
forms.  While  in  dramatic  poetry  there  is  a  humiliating 
decay  in  comparison  with  the  Elizabethan  era,  yet  in  lyric, 
narrative,  and  didactic  poetry  we  find  almost  unrivalled  ex- 
cellence. With  naturalness  of  form  and  expression,  there 
is  a  careful  and  conscientious  workmanship  not  found  in 
previous  periods. 


488  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


THOMAS   BABINGTON    MACAULAY. 

Macaulay  does  not  belong  to  the  writers  who  have  been 
obliged  to  appeal  from  their  own  generation  to  a  more  dis- 
cerning posterity.  From  the  time  he  leaped  into  promi- 
nence by  his  essay  on  "  Milton  "  at  the  age  of  twenty-five, 
he  has  been  irhmensely  popular.  No  other  English  writer 
except,  perhaps,  some  of  the  great  novelists,  has  been  more 
widely  read.  Though  nearly  half  a  century  has  passed 
since  his  death,  there  is  scarcely  an  abatement  of  popular 
interest  in  his  works.  His  "  History  of  England,"  his 
"Essays,"  and  his  "  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome  "  find  a  place 
in  our  cheap  editions  of  standard  works.  In  many  homes 
they  take  their  place  by  the  side  of  the  Bible  and  Shake- 
speare. 

In  recent  years,  through  the  development  of  a  more 
chastened  style  of  writing,  a  noteworthy  reaction  against 
Macaulay's  fame  has  been  manifest.  His  faults  as  a  writer, 
critic,  and  historian  have  been  pointed  out  by  thoughtful 
scholars.  In  some  cases,  no  doubt,  the  reaction  has  gone 
too  far,  and  failed  to  do  justice  to  his  splendid  merits.  What- 
ever abatements  from  a  former  unqualified  laudation  a  new 
study  of  his  works  may  force  us  to  make,  surely  we  shall 
find  abundant  reason  to  vindicate  the  popular  judgment  of 
the  past  three-quarters  of  a  century,  and  to  assign  him  a 
high  rank  among  the  writers  of  the  Victorian  Age. 

Macaulay  counted  his  age  by  the  years  of  the  century, 


Engraved  by  Jauifs  I-aid  in  Is,'>l  alter  the  imuitin;,'  hy  Sir  Francis  Grant,  PR. A. 


THOMAS  BABINGTON  M AC  AULA  Y.  489 

having  been  born  Oct.  25,  1800,  in  Leicestershire.  He  was 
blessed  in  his  parentage.  His  father  Zachary  Macaulay,  of 
Scotch  Presbyterian  ancestry,  was  a  man  of  strong  charac- 
ter. Though  sparing  of  words,  he  thought  deeply ;  and  he 
persisted  in  whatever  he  undertook  with  the  tenacity  of  a 
stern  sense  of  duty.  He  displayed  a  reformer's  zeal  for 
the  abolition  of  slavery  in  the  British  dominions.  Macau- 
lay's  mother,  of  Quaker  descent,  supplied  the  tenderness 
and  grace  that  might  otherwise  have  been  lacking  in  the 
home.  She  was  a  mild,  affectionate  woman ;  but,  at  the 
same  time,  she  had  the  firmness  and  the  good  sense  to 
hold  her  son  in  the  line  of  duty  and  high  achievement. 

In  his  childhood  Macaulay  was  regarded  as  nothing  less 
than  a  prodigy.  He  acquired  knowledge  with  astonishing 
ease  and  possessed  an  extraordinary  power  in  casting  it 
into  literary  form.  At  eight  years  he  knew  Scott's  "  Mar- 
mion "  by  heart.  He  produced  history,  epics,  hymns, 
with  surprising  facility.  But  whatever  joy  these  promises 
of  future  eminence  may  have  awakened  in  his  mother's 
breast,  she  took  care  not  to  stimulate  his  vanity.  When 
he  was  thirteen,  she  gave  him  this  sensible  advice  :  "  I 
know  you  write  with  great  ease  to  yourself,  and  would 
rather  write  ten  poems  than  prune  one.  All  your  pieces 
are  much  mended  after  a  little  reflection ;  therefore,  take 
your  solitary  walks  and  think  over  each  separate  thing. 
Spare  no  time  or  trouble,  and  render  each  piece  as  perfect 
as  you  can." 

In  1 8 18  he  entered  Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  He 
exhibited  an  intense  repugnance  to  mathematics.  "Oh, 
for  words  to  express  my  abomination  of  that  science,"  he 
wrote   to  his  mother,  "  if  a   name    sacred    to   the    useful 


490  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

and  embellishing  arts  may  be  applied  to  the  perception 
and  recollection  of  certain  properties  in  numbers  and 
figures  !  "  His  dominant  taste  was  for  literature.  While 
making  excellent  attainments  in  the  ancient  classics,  he  ex- 
tended his  reading  over  a  wide  field  of  modern  literature. 
Poetry  and  fiction  especially  delighted  him.  His  disposi- 
tion was  amiable  and  generous ;  and  among  his  large  circle 
of  friends  he  exercised  an  almost  sovereign  sway  through 
his  brilliant  power  in  conversation.  With  his  large  stores 
of  knowledge  and  great  command  of  language,  he  naturally 
took  high  rank  as  a  debater. 

His  literary  productions  of  this  period  possess  unusual 
interest.  They  show  that  his  literary  faculties  matured 
early,  and  that  his  distinctive  style  was  a  natural  gift.  In 
a  prize  essay  on  William  HI.,  fragments  of  which  have 
been  preserved,  we  find  the  following  characteristic  pas- 
sage :  "  Lewis  XIV.  was  not  a  great  general.  He  was 
not  a  great  legislator.  But  he  was  in  one  sense  of  the 
word  a  great  king.  He  was  a  perfect  master  of  all  the 
mysteries  of  the  science  of  royalty  —  of  the  arts  which  at 
once  extend  power  and  conciliate  popularity,  which  most 
advantageously  display  the  merits  and  most  dexterously 
conceal  the  deficiencies  of  a  sovereign." 

His  contributions  to  Knight's  Quarterly  Magazine,  in- 
cluding verse,  fiction,  and  criticism,  reveal  rare  maturity 
of    thought    and    expression.       The    poem,    "  Battle    of 

Ivry,"  — 

"  Now  glory  to  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 

From  whom  all  glories  are!"  — 

is  scarcely  surpassed  by  any  of  his  later  verse.  The 
"  Fragments  of  a   Roman  Tale "  and  "  Scenes  from  the 


THOMAS  BABINGTON  MACAU  LAY.  49 1 

Athenian  Revels  "  exhibit  special  gifts  in  fiction  and  dra- 
matic dialogue.  His  study  of  '•  Dante  "  and  "Petrarch" 
show  the  largeness  of  method  and  the  wealth  of  knowl- 
edge that  characterize  nearly  all  of  his  literary  essays. 

In  1825  he  began  his  long  series  of  contributions  to  the 
Edinburgh  Review  with  his  elaborate  and  well-known 
essay  on  "  Milton."  Though  it  contained,  as  he  afterward 
said,  "scarcely  a  paragraph  such  as  his  matured  judgment 
approved,"  it  almost  took  England  by  storm.  It  revealed 
the  presence  of  a  new  force  in  literature.  It  introduced 
him  with  great  eclat  to  the  literary  and  social  circles  of  the 
metropolis,  where  his  genial  nature  and  brilliant  talk  in- 
creased his  popularity.  At  this  period  he  was  described 
by  Henry  Crabb  Robinson  as  a  man  "overflowing  with 
words,  and  not  poor  in  thought." 

While  he  was  yet  at  Cambridge,  his  father  lost  his  for- 
tune in  business.  This  event  brought  out  the  sterling  side 
of  his  character.  He  received  the  news  of  his  father's 
failure  with  cheerful  courage,  and  surrendering  his  cher- 
ished plans,  he  bravely  undertook  the  care  of  the  family. 
"  In  the  course  of  the  efforts  which  he  expended  on  the 
accomplishment  of  this  result,"  says  Trevelyan,  "he  un- 
learned the  very  notion  of  framing  his  method  of  life  with 
a  view  to  his  own  pleasure  ;  and  such  was  his  high  and 
simple  nature  that  it  may  well  be  doubted  whether  it  ever 
crossed  his  mind  that  to  live  wholly  for  others  was  a  sac- 
rifice at  all."  His  conduct  in  this  emergency  cannot  be 
too  much  admired.  It  shows  us  that  however  great  as  a 
writer,  Macaulay  was  still  greater  as  a  man. 

He  entered  the  legal  ])rofession  in  1826,  but  he  had 
no  hking  for  law,  and  got  little  practice.     But  his  talents 


492  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

were  generally  recognized,  and  a  wider  career  soon  opened 
to  him.  In  1830  he  entered  Parliament  and  speedily  took 
a  foremost  place.  As  a  Whig,  he  warmly  supported  the 
Reform  Bill  of  1832.  His  first  speech  created  little  less 
than  a  sensation  ;  and  afterward,  says  Gladstone,  "  when- 
ever he  rose  to  speak,  it  was  a  summons  like  a  trumpet- 
call  to  fill  the  benches."  His  perspicuous  thought,  his 
copious  diction,  and  his  vigorous  utterance  all  gave  him 
great  power  as  a  speaker.  He  was  a  hard  worker,  and 
throughout  his  political  career  he  exhibited  not  only  an 
incorruptible  integrity,  but  also  a  self-sacrificing  devotion 
to  the  welfare  of  his  country.  During  this  laborious 
period,  in  the  spare  moments  gained  by  early  rising,  he 
wrote  some  of  his  best-known  essays,  among  which  are 
"  Moore's  Life  of  Lord  Byron,"  "  Samuel  Johnson,"  "John 
Hampden,"  and  "  Lord  Burleigh." 

In  1834  Macaulay  sailed  for  India  as  legal  adviser  to 
the  Supreme  Council.  It  was  a  sacrifice  to  leave  his 
native  country  and  well-earned  fame  ;  but  his  new  office, 
which  paid  a  salary  of  ten  thousand  pounds,  brought  him 
the  means  to  provide  better  for  those  dependent  upon 
him.  He  spent  the  long  voyage  in  reading.  "  Except 
at  meals,"  he  said,  "  I  hardly  exchanged  a  word  with  any 
human  being.  I  devoured  Greek,  Latin,  Spanish,  Itahan, 
French,  and  English."  He  was  always  an  insatiable 
reader ;  history,  travels,  novels,  poetry  —  he  devoured 
them  all  with  but  little  discrimination.  He  possessed  the 
uncommon  faculty  of  "  riding  post "  through  an  author ; 
and  frequently  mastered  a  volume  during  a  morning's 
walk.  As  often  happens  with  far  less  vigorous  minds, 
books  were  allowed  to  take  the  place  of  reflection.     To 


THOMAS  BASING  TON  MACAULAY.  493 

use  the  words  of  Gladstone,  "  He  was  always  conversing 
or  recollecting  or  reading  or  composing ;  but  reflecting, 
never." 

Macaulay  was  a  man  of  strong  personality,  of  great 
good  sense,  and  of  indefatigable  industry.  In  Calcutta, 
as  in  London,  he  accomplished,  apart  from  his  special 
office,  a  large  amount  of  valuable  work.  As  chairman  of 
the  Committee  of  Public  Instruction,  he  exerted  a  decisive 
influence  on  the  educational  policy  of  India.  Instead  of 
encouraging  Oriental  learning,  he  maintained  that  "  the 
great  object  of  the  British  government  ought  to  be  the  pro- 
motion of  European  literature  and  science  among  the 
natives  of  India."  During  his  four  years'  stay  in  India 
he  wrote  only  two  articles  for  the  Edinburgh  Revieiv ;  but 
one  of  these  was  the  famous  essay  on  "  Bacon." 

He  returned  to  England  in  1838.  He  seized  upon  the 
homeward  voyage  as  a  favorable  opportunity  to  acquire 
German.  "People  tell  me,"  he  said,  "that  it  is  a  hard 
language,  but  I  cannot  easily  believe  that  there  is  a  lan- 
guage which  I  cannot  master  in  four  months  by  working 
ten  hours  a  day."  He  pursued  the  undertaking  with 
his  accustomed  vigor ;  and  though  we  may  well  doubt 
whether  he  succeeded  in  mastering  the  German  language 
in  four  months,  he  made  sufficient  attainments  to  read 
Goethe,  Schiller,  and  Lessing.  In  his  subsequent  literary 
work,  he  seems  to  have  made  but  little  use  of  the  German. 

A  few  months  after  his  return,  he  left  England  for  a 
tour  in  Italy.  His  familiarity  with  Latin  and  Italian  liter- 
ature prepared  him  to  enjoy  in  rich  measure  the  historic 
associations  of  the  country.  He  was  sensitive  to  architec- 
tural beauty,  and  St.  Peter's  made  a  deep  impression  on 


494 


ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


him.  "  I  really  could  have  cried  with  pleasure,"  he  wrote. 
He  used  this  journey  to  verify  the  local  coloring  of  his 
"  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome."  "  I  then  went  to  the  river," 
he  wrote  again,  "  to  the  spot  where  the  old  Pons  Sublicius 
stood,  and  looked  about  to  see  how  my  '  Horatius '  agreed 
with  the  topography.  Pretty  well ;  but  his  house  must  be 
on  Mount  Palatine,  for  he  could  never  see  Mount  Coelius 
from  the  spot  where  he  fought."     Accordingly,  we  read  in 

the  poem,  — 

"  But  he  saw  on  Palatinus 

The  white  porch  of  his  home  ; 
And  he  spake  to  the  noble  river 
That  rolls  by  the  towers  of  Rome." 

While  visiting  various  points  of  interest  in  Italy  he  was 
meditating  his  "History  of  England."  With  his  restless 
and  inexhaustible  energy,  he  soon  tired  of  sight-seeing 
and  longed  to  be  at  work  again.  Considerable  time,  how- 
ever, was  to  elapse  before  he  could  give  himself  fully  to 
his  "  History."  On  his  return  to  England,  he  was  elected 
to  Parliament  as  member  for  Edinburgh,  and  shortly 
afterward  entered  the  cabinet  as  Secretary  of  War.  Po- 
litical duties  once  more  absorbed  most  of  his  time  and 
effort.  But  in  1841  a  change  in  the  government  gave  him 
a  welcome  release  from  "that  closely  watched  slavery 
which  is  mocked  with  the  name  of  power."  And  though 
at  intervals  he  held  a  seat  in  Parliament  for  the  rest  of 
his  life,  his  energies  were  henceforth  chiefly  devoted  to  his 
literary  pursuits. 

It  is  time  to  consider  more  fully  Macaulay's  literary 
achievements.  First  in  time,  and  if  the  popular  estimate 
is  to  be  taken,  first  in  importance,  are  the  "  Essays."    The 


THOMAS  BABINGTON  MACAULAY.  495 

chief  of  these  appeared  in  the  EdinbtirgJi  Reviezu  between 
1825  and  1844.  They  cover  a  wide  field  and  may  be 
divided  into  two  principal  groups,  —  historical  and  critical. 
In  EngUsh  history  we  have  the  essays  on  "  Burleigh," 
"  Hallam,"  "  Hampden,"  "  Temple,"  "  Mackintosh,"  "  Wal- 
pole,"  "  Chatham,"  "  Clive,"  and  "Warren  Hastings,"  which 
taken  together  give  a  tolerably  complete  view  of  the  period 
between  Elizabeth  and  George  HI.  Among  the  essays 
treating  of  continental  history,  "  Machiavelli,"  "Mirabeau," 
"  Frederic,"  and  above  all  "  Von  Ranke,"  deserve  special 
mention.  The  critical  essays  include,  as  will  be  seen,  a 
considerable  number  of  the  most  prominent  English  writ- 
ers :  "Addison,"  "Bacon,"  "  Bunyan,"  "Byron,"  "Dry- 
den,"  "  Johnson,"  and  "  Milton." 

These  "  Essays "  were  produced  in  the  vigor  of  early 
manhood,  and  most  of  them  under  the  stress  of  a  busy 
political  life.  Instead  of  constituting  Macaulay's  main 
vocation,  they  were  little  more  than  recreations.  He 
wrote,  to  use  his  own  expression,  because  his  head  was 
full.  While  lacking  in  critical  acumen,  judicial  fairness, 
and  indisputable  accuracy,  they  display  astonishing  re- 
sources of  diction,  unequalled  clearness  of  thought,  and 
a  masterful  knowledge  of  history.  Any  absence  of  deli- 
cacy in  touch  is  amply  compensated  by  a  spacious  canvas 
and  unstinted  color.  Macaulay  may  be  fairly  styled  the 
Rubens  of  essayists. 

His  style,  about  which  so  much  has  been  said,  is  pre- 
eminently rhetorical  and  declamatory.  It  is  better  adapted 
to  oral  discourse  than  that  of  any  other  English  author. 
It  is  essentially  the  same  style  that  appears  in  his  eloquent 
parliamentary  speeches.     It  abounds  in  repetitions  for  the 


496  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

sake  of  clearness ;  in  tremendous  emphasis  of  statement  ■, 
in  a  luxuriant  expansion  and  illustration  of  ideas.  Though 
natural  to  him,  it  has  the  appearance  of  being  artificial. 
It  surrenders  its  flexibility  to  the  demands  of  a  uniform 
rhetorical  movement.  It  lacks  the  freedom  and  melody 
of  the  best  forms  of  prose  ;  and  in  spite  of  its  striking 
antitheses  and  its  agreeable  succession  of  long  and  short 
sentences,  there  is  an  unvaried  sameness  of  tone  that  at 
length  grows  tiresome.  While  in  Macaulay's  hands  it  was 
capable  of  splendid  results,  it  is  not  a  style  to  be  blindly 
imitated. 

His  mind  was  quick,  direct,  and  vigorous  in  its  opera- 
tions. It  soon  caught  the  main  outlines  of  a  subject. 
With  a  few  prominent  points  before  him,  Macaulay  pro- 
ceeded to  fill  in  his  picture  from  the  ample  resources  of 
his  memory  and  imagination.  There  is  an  absence  of 
gentle  gradation  and  subdued  tints.  But  whatever  may 
be  lacking  in  fine  discrimination  and  exquisite  delicacy, 
there  is  always  an  unfailing  lucidity  and  impressive  power. 

These  considerations  throw  light  on  a  serious  and 
acknowledged  faihng.  Macaulay  is  generally  a  partisan. 
While  he  was  thoroughly  honest  at  heart,  and  while  he 
would  have  scorned  to  do  any  one  intentional  wrong,  yet 
the  clearness  and  impetuosity  of  his  mental  processes 
sometimes  hurried  him  to  unwarranted  conclusions.  He 
was  deficient  in  judicial  calmness  and  reserve.  Hence, 
however  interesting  his  treatment,  and  however  imposing 
his  assertions,  it  must  be  confessed  that  his  conclusions 
are  not  always  decisive  and  final. 

Macaulay  lacked  philosophic  depth,  but  was  sensitive  to 
dramatic  situation.     He  delighted  m  facts  rather  than  in 


THOMAS  BASING  TON  MACAULAY.  497 

principles.  He  preferred  to  describe  events  rather  than 
to  trace  their  underlying  causes.  It  may  be  doubted 
whether  he  appreciated  the  subtile  feeling  of  the  finest 
poetry.  In  his  literary  criticism  we  miss  a  luminous  inter- 
pretation of  exquisite  passages.  He  frankly  admitted  that 
criticisms  like  Goethe's  "  Hamlet  "  or  Lessing's  "  Laocoon  " 
were  at  once  his  admiration  and  despair. 

There  are  noted  passages  in  his  "Essays"  that  might 
be  chosen  to  illustrate  more  or  less  fully  the  foregoing 
observations.  The  famous  article  on  "  Bacon  "  exhibits  his 
lack  of  judicial,  fairness.  The  third  paragraph  of  the 
essay  on  "Von  Ranke,"  in  which  he  describes  the  an- 
tiquity of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  shows  his  won- 
derful skill  in  expanding  and  impressing  an  idea.  His 
description  of  the  trial  of  Warren  Hastings  is  a  vivid 
and  impressive  picture.  The  following  extract  from  the 
essay  on  "Samuel  Johnson"  will  serve  to  illustrate  at 
once  his  clearness,  his  force,  his  fondness  for  paradox, 
his  exaggerated  emphasis  of  statement,  and  his  partisan 
attitude  of  mind  :  — 

"  Many  of  the  greatest  men  that  ever  lived  have 
written  biography.  Boswell  was  one  of  the  smallest  of 
men  that  ever  lived,  and  he  has  beaten  them  all.  He 
was,  if  we  are  to  give  any  credit  to  his  own  account  or 
to  the  united  testimony  of  all  who  knew  him,  a  man  of 
the  meanest  and  feeblest  intellect.  Johnson  described 
him  as  a  fellow  who  had  missed  his  only  chance  of  im- 
mortality by  not  having  been  alive  when  the  '  Dunciad ' 
was  written.  Beauclerk  used  his  name  as  a  proverbial 
expression  for  a  bore.  He  was  the  laughing-stock  of 
the  whole  of    that   brilliant   society  which    has    owed    to 

2K 


498  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

him  the  greater  part  of  its  fame.  He  was  always  laying 
himself  at  the  feet  of  some  eminent  man,  and  begging 
to  be  spit  upon  and  trampled  upon.  .  .  .  Everything 
which  another  man  would  have  hidden,  everything  the 
publication  of  which  would  have  made  another  man  hang 
himself,  was  matter  of  gay  and  clamorous  exultation  to  his 
weak  and  diseased  mind.  .  .  .  That  such  a  man  should 
have  written  one  of  the  best  books  in  the  world  is  strange 
enough.  But  this  is  not  all.  Many  persons  who  have 
conducted  themselves  foolishly  in  active  life,  and  whose 
conversation  has  indicated  no  superior  powers  of  mind, 
have  left  us  valuable  works.  Goldsmith  was  very  justly 
described  by  one  of  his  contemporaries  as  an  inspired 
idiot,  and  by  another  as  a  being  — 

'  Who  wrote  like  an  angel,  and  talked  like  poor  Poll.' 

"  La  Fontaine  was  in  society  a  mere  simpleton.  His 
blunders  would  not  come  in  amiss  among  the  stories  of 
Hierocles.  But  these  men  attained  literary  eminence 
in  spite  of  their  weaknesses.  Boswell  attained  it  by 
reason  of  his  weaknesses.  If  he  had  not  been  a  great 
fool,  he  would  never  have  been  a  great  writer.  ...  Of 
the  talents  which  ordinarily  raise  men  to  eminence  as 
writers,  Boswell  had  absolutely  none.  There  is  not  in  all 
his  books  a  single  remark  of  his  own  on  literature,  politics, 
religion,  or  society,  which  is  not  either  commonplace  or 
absurd.  .  .  .  Logic,  eloquence,  wit,  taste,  all  those  things 
which  are  generally  considered  as  making  a  book  valuable, 
were  utterly  wanting  to  him.  He  had,  indeed,  a  quick 
observation  and  retentive  memory.  These  quahties,  if 
he  had  been  a  man  of   sense  and  virtue,  would  scarcely 


THOMAS  BABINGTON  MACAU  LAY.  499 

of  themselves  have  sufficed  to  make  him  conspicuous ; 
but  because  he  was  a  dunce,  a  parasite,  and  a  coxcomb, 
they  have  made  him  immortal." 

Macaulay  was  not  a  poet,  yet  he  published  a  slender 
volume  of  poems  that  have  kept  their  place  as  a  popular 
favorite.  These  are  the  "  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome,"  which 
were  published  in  1842.  In  the  preface  the  author  tells 
us  that  he  speaks,  not  in  his  own  person,  but  in  the  per- 
sons of  ancient  minstrels,  who  know  only  what  a  Roman 
citizen,  born  four  or  five  hundred  years  before  the  Chris- 
tian era,  may  be  supposed  to  have  known,  and  who  are 
in  no  wise  above  the  passions  and  prejudices  of  their 
age  and  nation.  In  this  way  the  legends  of  Horatius 
defending  the  bridge,  of  the  battle  of  Regillus,  of  the 
slaying  of  Virginia,  and  of  the  prophecy  of  Capys  are 
treated.  Macaulay  frankly  acknowledges  his  indebted- 
ness to  the  old  English  ballad,  to  Scott,  and  above  all  to 
Homer.  He  reproduces  the  heroic  spirit,  and  especially 
the  patriotic  devotion  of  the  ancient  Roman,  in  a  manner 
deeply  impressive. 

It  is  safe  to  say  that  the  ballad  is  the  only  form  of 
poetry  in  which  Macaulay  could  have  met  with  success. 
The  ballad  does  not  require  the  finest  emotion  nor  the 
deepest  thought.  It  is  narrative  in  form,  and  its  essential 
elements  are  clearness,  rapidity,  and  force.  In  these  quali- 
ties Macaulay  was  gifted  in  an  eminent  degree.  His  sub- 
jects were  happily  chosen.  In  the  field  of  Roman  history 
he  was  unusually  versed,  and  his  visit  to  Italy  enabled  him 
to  perfect  the  topography  of  his  poems.  His  great  mas- 
tery of  language  took  away  the  difficulties  of  rhyme,  and 
his  knowledge  of  prosody  gave  an  almost  faultless  correct- 


500  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

ness  to  his  metre.  The  "  Lays  "  were  kept  under  the  file 
a  long  time,  and  the  criticism  of  scholarly  friends  was  in- 
voked. The  simplicity  and  directness  of  the  language  are 
often  admirable,  as  may  be  seen  from  the  following  stanza 
in  "Horatius,"  describing  the  destruction  of  the  bridge  :  — 

"•  But  with  a  crash  like  thunder 

Fell  every  loosened  beam, 
And,  like  a  dam,  the  mighty  wreck 

Lay  right  athwart  the  stream  ; 
And  a  long  shout  of  triumph 

Rose  from  the  walls  of  Rome, 
As  to  the  highest  turret-tops 

Was  splashed  the  yellow  foam." 

As  a  historian  Macaulay  is  distinctly  modern  in  his  aims 
and  methods.  Instead  of  accepting  traditional  or  legen- 
dary views,  he  goes  to  the  original  sources  of  information. 
Whatever  fault  may  be  found  with  some  of  his  conclu- 
sions, his  painstaking  research  is  universally  acknowledged. 
He  shared  the  democratic  tendency  of  his  age,  and  in  his 
"  History"  he  attaches  importance,  not  simply  to  the  fate  of 
princes,  but  also  to  the  hfe  of  the  common  people.  "  It 
will  be  my  endeavor,"  he  says  in  the  first  chapter  of  the 
"  History  of  England,"  "to  relate  the  history  of  the  peo- 
ple as  well  as  the  history  of  the  government,  to  trace  the 
progress  of  useful  and  ornamental  arts,  to  describe  the 
rise  of  religious  sects  and  the  changes  of  literary  taste,  to 
portray  the  manners  of  successive  generations,  and  not 
to  pass  by  with  neglect  even  the  revolutions  which  have 
taken  place  in  dress,  furniture,  repasts,  and  public  amuse- 
ments." 

In  several  of  his  "  Essays  "  Macaulay  has  laid  down  his 


THOMAS  BABINGTON  MACAULAY.  501 

theory  of  history.  He  \v  'd  make  it  a  combination  of 
fact  and  fiction,  of  poetry  and  p.  "'""Sophy ;  yet  these  ele- 
ments should  be  so  presented  as  to  make  a  truthful  im- 
pression. He  would  combine  the  imagination  of  Scott 
and  the  research  of  Hallam.  In  his  essay  on  "  Machia- 
velli "  he  says:  "The  best  portraits  are  perhaps  those  in 
which  there  is  a  slight  mixture  of  caricature,  and  we  are 
not  certain  that  the  best  histories  are  not  those  in  which  a 
little  of  the  exaggeration  of  fictitious  narrative  is  judiciously 
employed.  Something  is  lost  in  accuracy,  but  much  is 
gained  in  effect.  The  fainter  lines  are  neglected ;  but  the 
great  characteristic  features  are  imprinted  on  the  mind 
forever." 

He  aimed  to  give  his  "  History  of  England  "  the  charm 
of  a  historical  romance.  He  followed  the  method  of  the 
historical  novelist  in  the  minute  portrayal  of  incident,  the 
careful  delineation  of  character,  and  the  dramatic  arrange- 
ment of  his  narrative.  "  I  shall  not  be  satisfied,"  he  wrote, 
"  unless  I  produce  something  which  shall  for  a  few  days 
supersede  the  last  fashionable  novel  on  the  table  of  young 
ladies."  He  realized  his  aim  in  producing  a  wonderfully 
successful  work.  But  after  all,  his  method,  except  in  nar- 
row limits,  is  not  practicable.  Macaulay  miscalculated  his 
strength.  It  has  been  shown  that  the  completion  of  his 
"History"  as  originally  planned  would  have  filled  fifty  vol- 
umes and  occupied  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  in  compo- 
sition. His  five  volumes  narrate  the  events  of  only  sixteen 
years  —  from  1685  to  1701. 

The  "History  of  England,"  completed  in  1855,  exhibits 
the  same  general  characteristics  exemplified  in  the  "  Es- 
says."    Its   style   is   rhetorical,    pellucid,   and   strong.     It 


502  ENGLISH  LirERATURE. 

abounds  in  admirab'.^  ^descriptions  of  persons,  places,  and 
events.  It  has  been  styled,  not  unjustly,  a  veritable  por- 
trait gallery.  To  use  his  own  language,  it  invests  "  with  the 
reality  of  human  flesh  and  blood  beings  whom  we  are  too 
much  inclined  to  consider  as  personified  qualities  in  an 
allegory ;  calls  up  our  ancestors  before  us  with  all  their 
peculiarities  of  language,  manners,  and  garb  ;  shows  us 
over  their  houses,  seats  us  at  their  tables,  rummages  their 
old-fashioned  wardrobes,  explains  the  uses  of  their  pon- 
derous furniture."  But,  at  the  same  time,  it  frequently 
shows  a  partisan  bias.  In  the  multitude  of  details  it  sac- 
rifices a  true  perspective  ;  and  throughout  it  all  there  is  a 
singular  lack  of  philosophic  spirit. 

The  closing  years  of  Macaulay's  life  are  not  free  from 
pathos.  He  had  been  a  strong  man  physically,  broad- 
shouldered  and  stout-limbed.  He  was  blessed  with  a 
superabounding  energy  and  spirit  that  made  him  the  life 
of  every  company.  But  at  last,  in  1852,  he  was  suddenly 
stricken  with  heart  disease,  which  was  soon  followed  by 
an  incurable  asthma.  Thus  to  be  shorn  of  his  strength 
was  a  cruel  blow.  "I  became,"  he  says,  "twenty  years 
older  in  a  week." 

But  his  sterling  worth  never  showed  itself  to  better  ad- 
vantage than  in  the  trials  of  broken  health.  He  sustained 
his  sufferings  with  a  cheerful  fortitude.  He  was  faithful 
in  every  duty,  whether  public  or  private.  He  never  lost 
his  tender  consideration  for  those  about  him.  He  faced 
death  calmly,  thinking  chiefly  of  the  sorrow  of  those  whom 
beloved.  The  end  came  Dec.  28,  1859,  and  a  few  days 
later  he  was  laid  to  rest  in  the  Poets'  Corner  of  West- 
minster Abbey.     "Absolutely  without  literary  affectation," 


THOMAS  BABINGTON  MACAU  LAY.  503 

to  borrow  the  words  of  Justin  McCarthy,  "  undepressed 
by  early  poverty,  unspoiled  by  later  and  almost  unequalled 
success,  he  was  an  independent,  quiet,  self-relying  man, 
who,  in  all  his  noon  of  fame,  found  most  happiness  in  the 
companionship  and  the  sympathy  of  those  he  loved,  and 
who,  from  first  to  last,  was  loved  most  tenderly  by  those 
who  knew  him  best." 


504  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


CHARLOTTE   BRONTE. 

Not  long  since  an  investigator  made  an  inquiry  as  to 
the  stature  of  people  of  genius.  His  tabulated  statement 
of  measurements  indicates  that  people  of  genius  are  gen- 
erally either  below  or  above  the  medium  height.  What- 
ever may  be  thought  of  this  conclusion,  it  is  certain  that 
Charlotte  Bronte  might  be  adduced  in  confirmation  of 
its  truth.  While  she  was  one  of  the  most  highly  gifted 
literary  women  of  England,  she  was  diminutive  in  form 
and  fragile  in  health.  But  what  she  lacked  in  size  and 
strength,  she  made  up  in  force  of  will  and  persistency  of 
effort.  Genius  has  rarely  achieved  greater  triumphs  over 
unfavorable  surroundings. 

In  her  novels  she  has  portrayed  her  own  character  with 
great  clearness.  Forced  by  solitude  and  suffering  to  pro- 
longed introspection,  she  acquired  a  rare  self-knowledge. 
She  gazed  steadily  into  the  tragic  depths  of  the  human 
soul.  She  had  but  a  limited  acquaintance  with  literature 
and  society.  Her  genius  was  singularly  restricted  in  its 
materials.  Hence  her  work  is  largely  autobiographical ; 
it  is  her  experience  as  contemplated  in  the  light  of  a 
strong  imagination.  "Jane  Eyre,"  "Lucy  Snowe,"  and 
even  "The  Professor"  are  Charlotte  Bronte  herself.  She 
was  of  delicate  mould ;  and  whether  she  experienced  joy 
or  sorrow,  it  was  in  an  intense  degree.  What  has  been 
said  of  her  last  work  "Villette"  may  be  justly  applied  to 
all  her  writings :    "  Out  of  the  dull  record  of  humble  woes, 


Alter  (.  Iiajiiu'l.      hiigraved  l)_v  >.  lldllvtT. 


"-^  i^-^&L^ 


CHARLOTTE  BRONT&.  505 

marked  by  no  startling  episodes,  adorned  by  few  of  the 
flowers  of  poetry,  she  created  such  a  heart  history  as  re- 
mains to  this  day  without  a  rival  in  the  school  of  English 
fiction  to  which  it  belongs." 

There  are  few  lives  that  have  been  so  sad.  Her  his- 
tory, it  has  been  suggested,  ought  to  be  written  in  tears. 
Death  early  robbed  her  of  a  mother's  care.  Her  school 
life,  as  depicted  in  the  early  chapters  of  "Jane  Eyre," 
was  characterized  by  harsh  treatment,  insufficient  food, 
and  enforced  exposure  to  wet  and  cold.  The  dissipated 
habits  of  a  loved  and  talented  brother  brought  a  con- 
stant care  and  humiliating  sorrow.  Her  life  as  a  gov- 
erness was  scarcely  better  than  a  prolonged  torture  to 
her  sensitive  nature.  Her  efforts  to  establish  a  school 
were  an  ignominious  failure.  Yet,  in  the  midst  of  this 
clouded  existence,  her  spirit  continued  to  burn  with 
quenchless  fire ;  and  out  of  her  bitter  trials  she  wrought 
a  series  of  works  which,  by  their  beauty  and  depth  and 
power,  have  gained  a  permanent  place  in  our  literature. 

Charlotte  Bronte  was  born  Apr.  21,  18 16,  at  Thornton, 
in  Yorkshire.  Her  father,  Patrick  Bronte,  was  an  Episco- 
pal clergyman  of  literary  tastes,  who  was  afterward,  for 
more  than  forty  years,  settled  in  the  living  at  Haworth. 
Though  upon  the  whole  an  unambitious,  estimable  man, 
he  was  not  devoid  of  eccentricities,  and  his  authority  in 
the  home  was  exercised  with  severity.  Her  mother  was 
a  sensitive  woman,  of  attractive  appearance,  and  the  let- 
ters written  to  her  husband  before  marriage  show  that 
she  was  not  without  literary  ability  and  culture.  She  died 
when  Charlotte  was  five  years  old,  and  henceforth  there 
was  but  little  joy  in  the  household. 


506  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

There  were  six  children  in  all,  Charlotte  being  the  third. 
The  parsonage  at  Haworth,  a  sufficiently  commodious 
building,  looked  out  on  a  graveyard  near  by  and  on 
extensive  gloomy  moors.  The  Yorkshire  people,  whose 
character  is  portrayed  in  "Shirley,"  are  independent, 
brusque,  and  thrifty.  But,  at  the  same  time,  they  are  apt 
to  become  obstinate,  and  when  they  believe  their  rights 
invaded,  they  do  not  hesitate  to  resort  to  lawless  force. 
In  the  midst  of  these  cheerless  surroundings,  and  without 
congenial  companionship,  the  Bronte  children  were  driven 
back  on  themselves,  and  in  their  thought  and  manners 
exhibited  an  unseasonable  maturity. '  They  were  grave, 
silent,  studious,  beyond  their  years. 

They  received  instruction  from  their  father,  who,  along 
with  the  usual  studies,  discoursed  to  them  on  the  political 
and  religious  questions  that  engaged  his  attention.  They 
remained  ignorant  of  the  usual  sports  of  childhood  and 
never  knew  how  to  be  merry.  In  1824  the  four  older 
sisters  entered  the  school  for  clergymen's  daughters  at 
Cowan's  Bridge.  Owing  to  their  delicate  constitution  and 
precocious  training,  they  were  ill-adapted  to  the  coarse 
fare  and  harsh  discipHne  of  the  school.  Charlotte  always 
maintained  the  substantial  correctness  of  the  description 
of  its  brutalities  which  she  has  given  in  "Jane  Eyre." 
The  beautiful  character  of  little  Helen  Burns  is  a  por- 
trait of  her  oldest  sister,  Maria.  In  a  few  months  after 
entering  the  school,  the  two  older  sisters  Maria  and  Eliza- 
beth died,  and  Charlotte  and  Emily  were  taken  home. 

For  the  next  six  years,  dating  from  1825,  Charlotte  re- 
mained at  home,  and,  as  the  oldest  of  the  children  living, 
exercised  over  them  a  maternal  care.     The  entire  family 


CHARLOTTE   BIWXT&.  507 

had  a  remarkable  penchant  for  writing,  which,  apart  from 
the  devouring  of  all  sorts  of  books,  constituted  their  prin- 
cipal amusement.  After  the  domestic  cares  of  the  day 
were  over,  they  were  accustomed  to  assemble  in  the 
kitchen,  where,  seated  at  one  table,  they  proceeded  to 
compose  stories,  fairy  tales,  poems,  and  dramas.  An 
astonishing  amount  of  this  childish  manuscript,  written 
in  almost  microscopic  hand,  has  been  preserved,  and  re- 
veals to  us  their  precocious  talents  and  their  imaginative 
power.  Upon  the  whole,  Charlotte  seems  to  have  been 
the  most  gifted  of  the  children ;  and  it  was  in  the  practice 
of  these  early  years  that  she  acquired  the  copious  vocab- 
ulary and  forcible  style  which  distinguish  her  subsequent 
works. 

In  1 83 1  she  entered  a  small  boarding-school  at  Roe 
Head.  Here  she  passed  the  next  eighteen  months  in 
unwonted  happiness.  "  She  looked  a  little  old  woman," 
says  one  of  her  schoolmates  and  dearest  friends,  "  so 
short-sighted  that  she  always  appeared  to  be  seeking 
something,  and  moving  her  head  from  side  to  side  to 
catch  a  sight  of  it.  She  was  very  shy  and  nervous,  and 
spoke  with  a  strong  Irish  accent.  When  a  book  was  given 
her,  she  dropped  her  head  over  it  till  her  nose  nearly 
touched  it,  and  when  she  was  told  to  hold  her  head  up,  up 
went  the  book  after  it,  still  close  to  her  nose,  so  that  it  was 
not  possible  to  help  laughing."  She  was  ignorant  of  tech- 
nical grammar  and  geography ;  but  her  knowledge  of 
literature,  art,  and  politics  was  a  matter  of  general  aston- 
ishment. With  an  insatiable  thirst  for  knowledge,  she 
gave  herself  with  great  diligence  to  study.  She  seemed 
to  grudge  the  time  spent  in  necessary  relaxation  and  play. 


5o8  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

But  in  spite  of  her  extreme  devotion  to  study,  her  oblig- 
ing amiability  made  her  a  favorite  with  her  schoolmates, 
and  her  gifts  in  story-telling  were  a  constant  source  of 
deli2:ht.  It  was  at  Roe  Head  that  she  found  much  of  the 
character  and  incident  worked  up  in  "  Shirley." 

In  1832  Charlotte  returned  home,  where  for  the  next 
three  years  she  led  a  life  of  routine.  "In  the  morning, 
from  nine  o'clock  till  half  past  twelve,"  she  writes  to  a 
friend,  "  I  instruct  my  sisters  and  draw ;  then  we  walk  till 
dinner-time.  After  dinner  I  sew  till  tea-time,  and  after  tea 
I  either  write,  read,  or  do  a  little  fancy-work,  or  draw,  as  I 
please.  Thus,  in  one  delightful  though  somewhat  mo- 
notonous course,  my  life  is  passed."  Her  reading  at  this 
time  covered  a  considerable  field.  She  was  exceedingly 
fond  of  Scott,  in  comparison  with  whose  works  she 
esteemed  all  other  novels  worthless.  Hume  and  RolHn 
were  her  favorite  historians.  In  biography  she  read  John- 
son's "  Lives  of  the  Poets,"  Lockhart's  "  Life  of  Burns," 
Moore's  "  Life  of  Byron,"  and  Boswell's  "  Life  of  John- 
son." But  her  principal  authors  were  the  poets,  among 
whom  she  preferred  Shakespeare,  Milton,  Scott,  Byron, 
and  Wordsworth.  In  the  choice  of  books  her  rule  was, 
"  Adhere  to  standard  authors  and  avoid  novelty." 

In  1835,  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  she  returned  to  Roe 
Head  as  teacher.  Her  labors  there  finally  proved  too 
much  for  her  health,  and  after  three  years  she  returned 
to  Haworth.  When  she  had  regained  her  usual  strength, 
she  became  a  governess ;  but  this  employment  was  not 
suited  either  to  her  talents  or  tastes.  She  had  little  tact 
in  amusing  or  managing  children.  While  possessing  un- 
common ability  in  the  acquisition  of  knowledge,  she  had 


CHARLOTTE  BRONT&.  509 

no  gifts  in  imparting  it.  She  was  not  unconscious  of  her 
superior  endowments ;  and  the  supercilious  treatment  to 
which  she  was  exposed  from  unrefined  natures  was  an 
almost  intolerable  humiliation. 

The  next  step  in  her  career  was  a  period  of  study  in  a 
boarding-school  at  Brussels.  She  had  formed  the  project 
of  opening  a  school,  and  in  preparation  for  it,  she  desired 
to  improve  her  knowledge  of  French,  especially  in  its  col- 
loquial use.  She  spent  two  years  in  the  pensionnat  of 
Monsieur  Heger,  and  of  her  surroundings  and  experi- 
ences she  has  given  a  faithful  picture  in  "  Villette  "  and 
"The  Professor."  She  studied  with  indefatigable  indus- 
try ;  and  some  French  themes,  which  have  been  preserved, 
show  not  only  a  remarkable  literary  ability,  but  also  ad- 
mirable attainments  in  the  French  language.  As  an 
ardent  Protestant,  she  freely  criticised  Roman  Catholic 
institutions.  Nevertheless,  the  private  confession  to  a 
priest,  so  graphically  detailed  in  "Villette,"  was  an  actual 
occurrence.  The  story  that  she  fell  in  love  with  Monsieur 
Heger,  to  whom  she  gave  lessons  in  English,  and  from 
whom  she  received  instruction  in  French,  is  probably  with- 
out foundation.  But  there  is  no  question  that  she  greatly 
admired  him;  and  in  "Villette"  he  is  the  original  of  Paul 
Emanuel. 

~  She  returned  to  England  in  1844,  and  endeavored  to 
carry  out  her  long-cherished  purpose  to  open  a  school  at 
the  Haworth  parsonage.  Her  efforts  proved  a  failure. 
In  spite  of  earnest  efforts  to  secure  pupils,  not  one  eve-r 
came.  Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well ;  for  about  this  time  her 
brother  Branwell,  a  young  man  of  fine  natural  gifts,  began 
to  be  a  source  of  anxiety  and  care.     He  had  fallen  into 


5IO  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

habits  of  dissipation  ;  and  at  last  he  returned  home,  where, 
after  causing  his  father  and  sisters  indescribable  humilia- 
tion and  sorrow,  he  died  in  1848,  a  victim  to  opium  and 
whiskey. 

But  humiliation  and  sorrow  were  not  sufficient  to  extin- 
guish the  literary  impulse  'and  ambition  of  Charlotte  and 
her  sisters,  Emily  and  Anne.  Perhaps  they  had  recourse 
to  the  pen  as  a  solace  in  their  tribulation.  At  all  events, 
the  sisters  discovered,  in  1845,  the  poetic  effort  to  which 
they  had  been  secretly  giving  themselves,  and,  against  the 
advice  of  friendly  pubhshers,  they  resolved  to  risk  a  volume 
in  print.  It  was  issued  at  their  expense  in  1846,  under  the 
title,  "  Poems  by  Currer,  Ellis,  and  Acton  Bell."  These 
names  were  assumed  partly  to  avoid  publicity,  and  partly 
to  escape  the  prejudice  which  the  sisters  believed  to  exist 
against  female  authors.  The  poetry  is  scarcely  above  me- 
diocrity ;  and,  as  was  to  be  expected,  the  volume  proved  a 
failure.  The  leading  periodicals  treated  it  coldly  ;  and  in 
spite  of  advertising,  the  publisher  sold  only  two  copies  in  a 
year. 

Charlotte  and  her  sisters,  however,  were  not  wholly  dis- 
couraged. They  each  set  about  preparing  a  story  in  prose, 
for  which  alone  their  talents  were  suited.  Emily  wrote 
"Wuthering  Heights"  and  Anne  "Agnes  Grey,"  both  of 
which  promptly  found  a  publisher,  but  on  terms  somewhat 
impoverishing  to  the  two  authors.  Charlotte's  story  was 
entitled  "The  Professor,"  a  delightful  book,  the  characters 
and  incidents  of  which  were  taken  chiefly  from  her  life  in 
Brussels.  Strange  to  say,  it  failed,  after  repeated  efforts, 
to  find  a  publisher,  and  did  not  see  the  light  till  after  the 
gifted  writer's  death. 


CHARLOTTE  BRONT&.  51I 

"The  Professor,"  as  indeed  all  of  Charlotte  Bronte's 
works,  is  written  in  a  spirit  of  realism.  She  explains  the 
principles  that  guided  her  in  its  composition,  as  follows  :  "  I 
said  to  myself  that  my  hero  should  work  his  way  through 
life  as  I  had  seen  real  Hving  men  work  theirs ;  that  he 
should  never  get  a  shilling  he  had  not  earned  ;  that  no  sud- 
den turn  should  lift  him  in  a  moment  to  wealth  and  high 
station ;  that  whatever  small  competency  he  might  gain, 
should  be  won  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow ;  that  before  he 
could  find  so  much  as  an  arbor  to  sit  down  in,  he  should 
master,  at  least,  half  the  ascent  of  the 'Hill  of  Difficulty'; 
that  he  should  not  even  marry  a  beautiful  girl  or  a  lady 
of  rank.  As  Adam's  son  he  should  share  Adam's  doom, 
and  drain,  throughout  life,  a  mixed  and  moderate  cup  of 
enjoyment."  But  this  realism,  which  has  since  so  largely 
dominated  fiction,  was  not  at  that  time  acceptable  to  the 
public  taste,  which  still  demanded  what  was  thrilling, 
poetic,  idealistic. 

While  "  The  Professor"  was  rejected  by  a  succession  of 
publishers,  its  author's  ability  did  not  utterly  escape  recog- 
nition. She  was  encouraged  to  try  her  hand  on  a  "  three- 
volumed  novel,"  and  in  spite  of  previous  discouragements 
she  resolutely  set  to  work.  The  result  was  her  master- 
piece, "Jane  Eyre,"  which  was  written  in  the  midst  of  do- 
mestic distractions  and  sorrows.  It  appeared  in  1847  ^^'^^ 
at  once  occasioned  a  flutter  of  excitement  in  the  literary 
circles  of  London.  It  was  recognized  as  a  work  of  unusual 
power  ;  and  the  timid,  patient,  determined  little  authoress 
awoke  to  find  herself  famous. 

"  Jane  Eyre  "  was  published  as  the  work  of  Currer  Bell. 
The  identity  of  the  author  at   once  became  a  matter  of 


512  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

speculation,  and  the  secret  was  not  discovered  till  after 
the  pubhcation  of  her  next  work.  The  opinions  expressed 
in  the  periodicals  of  the  time  furnish  an  amusing  illustra- 
tion of  the  fallibiUty  of  criticism.  A  distinguished  Ameri- 
can critic  pronounced  "Jane  Eyre"  the  work  of  more  than 
one  hand  and  one  sex,  and  a  prominent  English  woman 
proved  "upon  irresistible  evidence"  that  it  was  the  work 
of  a  man. 

The  style  exhibits  a  direct  and  mascuhne  vigor  that 
places  Miss  Bronte  among  the  masters  of  English  prose. 
The  leading  characters,  far  from  an  ideal  perfection,  are 
portrayed  with  a  deeply  impressive  realism.  Some  of  the 
scenes  are  intensely  dramatic,  and  the  reader  is  carried 
forward  with  eager  interest  to  the  close.  Unconventional 
in  form  and  sentiment,  its  originality  gave  rise  to  some 
carping  criticism  ;  and  in  the  preface  to  the  second  edition, 
which  was  speedily  called  for,  the  author  took  occasion  to 
remind  her  readers  that  "  Conventionality  is  not  morality. 
Self-righteousness  is  not  religion.  To  attack  the  first  is 
not  to  assail  the  last.  To  pluck  the  mask  from  the  face  of 
the  Pharisee  is  not  to  lift  an  impious  hand  to  the  Crown 
of  Thorns."  Though  not  without  faults  of  conception, 
of  taste,  and  of  ignorance,  "  Jane  Eyre "  stands  as  one  of 
the  great  impressive  books  of  our  century. 

"Jane  Eyre"  contains  a  brave  word  on  the  sphere  of 
woman.  Miss  Bronte  was  an  independent  thinker,  and 
she  had  the  courage  of  her  convictions.  The  agitation  of 
recent  years  and  the  ever  widening  sphere  of  woman's 
activity  would  seem  to  confirm  the  truth  of  the  following 
vigorous  passage,  which  no  doubt  came  as  a  shock  to 
many  a  conservative  reader  on  its  first  appearance  :  "  It 


CHARLOTTE   BRONT&.  513 

is  in  vain  to  say  human  beings  ought  to  be  satisfied  with 
tranquillity  ;  they  must  have  action  ;  and  they  will  make  it 
if  they  cannot  find  it.  MiUions  are  condemned  to  a  stiller 
doom  than  mine,  and  millions  are  in  silent  revolt  against 
their  lot.  Women  are  supposed  to  be  very  calm  gener- 
ally; but  women  feel  just  as  men  feel;  they  need  exercise 
for  their  faculties  and  a  field  for  their  efforts  as  much  as 
their  brothers  do ;  they  suffer  from  too  rigid  a  restraint, 
too  absolute  a  stagnation,  precisely  as  men  would  suffer; 
and  it  is  narrow-minded  in  their  more  privileged  fellow- 
creatures  to  say  that  they  ought  to  confine  themselves  to 
making  puddings  and  knitting  stockings,  to  playing  on  the 
piano  and  embroidering  bags.  It  is  thoughtless  to  con- 
demn them,  or  laugh  at  them,  if  they  seek  to  do  more  or 
learn  more  than  custom  has  pronounced  necessary  for 
their  sex." 

The  next  work  of  Miss  Bronte  was  "Shirley,"  which 
appeared  in  1849.  It  was  written,  one  might  say,  in  the 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  death.  Between  its  beginning  and 
completion,  her  brother  Branwell  and  her  sisters  Emily 
and  Anne  were  called  away.  Her  agony  of  soul  is  re- 
flected in  its  pages.  Yet  the  occupation  of  writing  it  was 
a  boon  to  her.  "  It  took  me,"  she  wTote,  "  out  of  darl:  and 
desolate  reality  into  an  unreal  but  happier  region."  But 
it  told  injuriously  on  her  health.  "You  can  write  nothing 
of  value,"  she  said,  "unless  you  give  yourself  wholly  to 
the  theme ;  and  when  you  so  give  yourself,  you  lose  appe- 
tite and  sleep  —  it  cannot  be  helped." 

The  characters  of  "  Shirley,"  as  in  Miss  Bronte's  other 
works,  were  taken  from  life.  The  heroine,  Shirley 
Keeldar,  was    an    ideaUzed  portrait  of  her   sister    Emily. 

2L 


'514  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Not  a  few  of  the  most  thrilling  incidents  —  the  night  at- 
tack  on  the  mill,  the  attempted  assassination  of  the  owner, 
the  cauterizing  of  the  arm  torn  by  a  mad  dog  —  were 
actual  occurrences.  The  book  was  a  faithful  delineation 
of  Yorkshire  scenery  and  Yorkshire  character.  It  was 
composed  with  extreme  care  and  was  generally  regarded 
as  worthy  of  the  author  of  "Jane  Eyre."  A  few  weeks 
after  its  publication,  she  spent  some  days  in  London, 
where  among  other  literary  celebrities  she  met  Thackeray, 
and  was  "moved  to  speak  to  the  giant  of  some  of  his 
shortcomings."  But  her  retiring  disposition  shrank  •as 
much  as  possible  from  all  unnecessary  publicity. 

As  her  successive  works  appeared,  she  awaited  and 
read  with  undue  interest  the  reviews  published  in  promi- 
nent periodicals.  She  recognized  the  superficiality  and 
ignorance  displayed  in  many  of  them  ;  but,  at  the  same 
time,  her  sensitive  nature  prevented  her  from  rising  above 
them.  Like  most  authors  of  serious  purpose,  she  highly 
valued  an  intelligent  and  discriminating  review.  She  was 
ready  to  avail  herself  of  any  suggestions  that  might  im- 
prove her  work.  But  then,  as  now,  haste,  incompetency, « 
or  self-interest  frequently  stripped  criticism  of  any  value 
whatever. 

The  next  several  years  were  spent  chiefly  in  the  soli- 
tude of  the  Haworth  parsonage.  Feeble  health  added  to 
her  depression  of  spirits.  The  principal  event  to  break 
the  monotony  of  her  life  was  the  arrival  of  the  postman. 
In  addition  to  the  letters  from  admiring  readers  of  her 
books,  she  maintained  a  regular  correspondence  with  a 
number  of  friends.  She  was  a  charming  letter-writer; 
and  the  letters  preserved  for  us  in  Mrs.  Gaskell's  "  Life 


CHARLOTTE  BR0NT£.  515 

of  Charlotte  Bronte,"  and  still  more  fully  in  Shorter's 
"Charlotte  Bronte  and  her  Circle,"  reveal  very  fully  not 
only  her  daily  life,  but  also  her  character  and  her  opinions 
on  a  great  variety  of  subjects.  Her  genius  as  a  writer  was 
supported  by  a  rare  common  sense; 

She  received  occasional  calls  from  distinguished  visitors, 
attracted  to  Haworth  by  her  fame.  She  made  brief  visits 
to  the  homes  of  friends  or  to  London ;  but  she  never  over- 
came her  native  repugnance  to  prominence  or  publicity. 
At  the  request  of  her  publishers,  she  undertook  another 
work  ;  but,  owing  to  her  interrupted  health,  it  progressed 
slowly.  Conscientious  in  her  literary  labors,  she  was  sat- 
isfied only  with  the  best  she  could  do.  Replying  to  an 
inquiry  of  her  publishers,  she  wrote :  "  It  is  not  at  all 
likely  that  my  book  will  be  ready  at  the  time  you  mention. 
If  my  health  is  spared,  I  shall  get  on  with  it  as  fast  as  is 
consistent  with  its  being  done,  if  not  tcv7/,  yet  as  well  as  I 
can  do  it.  Not  one  wJiit  faster.  When  the  mood  leaves 
me  (it  has  left  me  now,  without  vouchsafing  so  much  as  a 
word  or  a  message  when  it  will  return),  I  put  by  the  MS. 
and  wait  till  it  comes  back  again.  God  knows  I  some- 
times have  to  wait  long  —  very  long  it  seems  to  me." 

The  work  in  question  was  "  Villette,"  which  was  pub- 
lished in  1853  and  enthusiastically  received.  It  is  based 
on  her  Belgian  experiences.  It  is  defective  in  plot,  the 
interest  shifting  from  one  set  of  characters  to  another. 
The  fate  of  the  hero,  Paul  Emanuel,  is  left  somewhat 
ambiguous.  But  in  spite  of  artistic  blemishes,  it  is  de- 
lightful for  its  reality  and  truth.  There  are  few  authors 
who  would  have  discovered  so  much  interest  and  character 
in  the  everyday  life  of  a  boarding-school. 


5l6  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

"  Villette "  was  the  last  of  Miss  Bronte's  works.  She 
was  not  a  proHfic  author  ;  her  literary  work  is  comprised 
in  four  volumes  written  in  twice  as  many  years.  No 
doubt  her  early  death  cut  her  off  from  other  literary 
achievements ;  but  it  is  questionable  whether  she  would 
have  produced  anything  to  add  to  her  fame  had  she  lived 
to  a  ripe  old  age.  In  her  four  novels  she  pretty  thor- 
oughly exhausted  the  materials  at  her  command.  Any 
subsequent  works  would  probably  have  lacked  in  fresh- 
ness. "Jane  Eyre"  and  "Shirley"  embodied  her  obser- 
vation and  experience  in  England  ;  "  The  Professor  "  and 
"Villette,"  not  without  virtual  repetition,  reflected  her  life 
abroad.  Thus,  without  being  voluminous,  her  writings 
attained  a  well-rounded  completeness. 

Her  books  do  not  yield  the  highest  pleasure  to  those 
readers  who  seek  in  fiction  ideal  characters  and  ideal  inci- 
dents. She  is  not  to  be  classed  with  the  romantic  school 
of  fiction.  She  adheres  closely  to  reality  as  she  has  seen 
and  experienced  it.  Her  books  owe  their  enduring  charm 
to  their  profound  truthfulness.  She  wrote  from  the  treas- 
ures of  an  acute  observation  and  from  the  depths  of  a 
passionate  heart,  without  concerning  herself  about  conven- 
tional forms.  Her  works,  in  their  depth  and  sincerity  of 
feeling,  appeal  to  the  primal  sympathies  of  human  nature. 

The  sorely  tried  life  of  Charlotte  Bronte  was  not  to 
close  without  a  brief  taste  of  happiness.  In  the  evening 
of  her  life  the  sky,  for  a  brief  space,  became  radiant. 
After  rejecting,  in  her  earlier  years,  several  suitors  who 
had  been  attracted  by  her  rare  gifts  and  noble  character, 
she  was  married  in  1854  to  her  father's  curate,  Arthur 
Bell  Nicholls,  a  man  worthy  of  her  esteem  and  love.     In 


CHARLOTTE   BROXTA.  517 

"  Shirley,"  before  the  days  of  courtship,  she  had  paid  him 
a  tribute  in  the  character  of  Mr.  Macarthey :  "  He  labored 
faithfully  in  the  parish ;  the  schools,  both  Sunday  and  day 
schools,  flourished  under  his  sway  like  green  bay  trees. 
Being  human,  of  course  he  had  his  faults ;  these,  however, 
were  proper,  steady-going,  clerical  faults." 

Her  husband  had  not  loved  her  for  the  literary  ability 
she  had  exhibited  or  for  the  literary  fame  she  had  achieved. 
He  preferred  that  she  should  give  up  her  literary  pursuits 
in  her  devotion  to  domestic  and  social  duties.  With  the 
self-sacrificing  spirit  that  characterized  her  whole  life,  she 
yielded  for  a  time  to  her  husband's  wishes.  She  assisted 
him  in  his  parish  work  and  seemed  to  find  a  new  pleasure 
in  it.  But  at  last  the  literary  impulse  became  too  strong, 
and  she  began  a  new  story  entitled  "  Emma,"  which  she 
did  not  live  to  complete. 

The  months  that  followed  her  marriage  were  the  hap- 
piest of  her  life.  To  use  her  own  words,  she  did  "  not 
want  now  for  kind  companionship  in  health  and  the  ten- 
derest  nursing  in  sickness."  A  great  calm  seemed  to  fall 
upon  her  life,  and  she  was  observed  to  exhibit  a  gentle 
tenderness  not  noticeable  before.  But  the  larger  and 
happier  life  upon  which  she  had  entered  was  not  to  con- 
tinue. The  end  came  in  a  few  months.  Early  on  the 
morning  of  March  31,  1855,  the  Haworth  church  bell  an- 
nounced her  death  to  villagers  who  had  known  her  from 
childhood  and  had  proudly  rejoiced  in  her  success. 

"  Of  the  multitude  that  have  read  her  books,"  says 
Thackeray  in  a  generous  tribute,  "  who  has  not  known 
and  deplored  the  tragedy  of  her  family,  her  own  most  sad 
and  untimely  fate  .''    Which  of  her  readers  has  not  become 


5  1 8  ENGLISH  LITER  A  TURE. 

her  friend  ?  Who  that  has  known  her  books  has  not  ad- 
mired the  artist's  noble  English,  the  burning  love  of  truth, 
the  bravery,  the  simplicity,  the  indignation  at  wrong,  the 
eager  sympathy,  the  pious  love  and  reverence,  the  pas- 
sionate honor,  so  to  speak,  of  the  woman  ?  What  a  story 
is  that  of  that  family  of  poets  in  their  solitude  yonder  on 
the  gloomy  northern  moors  !  " 


Phutouraph  alter  paintin;;  liy  8iiinuL-l  Luurunce 


iuuh. 


c^^ 


WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE    THACKERAY.  519 


WILLIAM    MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY. 

Many  parallels  have  been  drawn  between  Thackeray 
and  Dickens,  the  two  greatest  novelists  of  their  day. 
Both  attained  great  popularity  ;  yet  in  character,  methods 
of  work,  and  attitude  toward  life,  they  were  very  differ- 
ent. In  place  of  Thackeray's  almost  feminine  timidity, 
Dickens  had  a  virile  self-confidence  and  determination. 
In  place  of  Thackeray's  distrust  of  himself  and  the  world, 
Dickens  had  an  invincible  confidence  in  both.  In  place 
of  Thackeray's  irresolution  and  unsystematic  methods  of 
work,  Dickens  was  resolute  and  regular  in  a  marked 
degree.  In  place  of  Thackeray's  satirical  attitude,  which 
made  him  dwell  chiefly  on  the  shams  and  foibles  of  life, 
Dickens  dwelt  chiefly  on  the  good  to  be  found  in  human 
nature,  even  in  its  most  degraded  forms.  Of  the  two,  it 
is  needless  to  say  that  Dickens  has  been  the  more  popular ; 
but  it  would  be  rash  to  say  that  he  was  the  greater  intel- 
lect or  better  artist. 

The  name  of  Thackeray  is  an  old  one  in  England, 
traceable  beyond  the  date  when  French  was  still  the 
official  language  of  the  country.  The  family  seemed  to 
have  a  talent  for  religion  and  many  of  its  members  were 
clergymen  in  the  EstabUshed  Church.  William  Make- 
peace, the  subject  of  this  sketch,  was  born  in  Calcutta, 
July  18,  181 1,  where  his  father  held  a  position  under  the 
Indian  government.     His  mother  is  spoken  of  as  "  one  of 


520  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

the  handsomest  old  ladies  in  the  world."  She  lived  to  see 
her  son  become  distinguished,  surviving  him  by  a  year. 

While  a  child  Thackeray  was  brought  to  England,  and 
placed  in  Charter  House  School.  The  head-master  was 
unsympathetic,  and  its  rude  manners  were  distasteful  to 
his  sensitive  nature.  He  was  not  an  example  of  youthful 
precocity ;  and  though  he  had  some  popularity  among  the 
boys,  he  detested  the  place,  and  was  accustomed  for  many 
years  to  refer  to  it  as  Slaughter  House.  Sparring  and 
cricket  seem  to  have  been  his  principal  acquisitions.  In 
his  last  year  at  the  school  he  wrote  to  his  mother : 
"There  are  but  370  in  the  school.  I  wish  there  were  only 
36g."  The  only  intimation  at  this  time  of  his  literary 
gifts  was  found  in  his  faculty  for  writing  humorous  verse. 

In  1829  Thackeray  entered  Trinity  College,  Cambridge, 
where  he  spent  only  one  year.  The  glimpses  we  get  of 
his  hfe  there  are  not  displeasing.  He  was  a  leading  spirit 
in  a  literary  society,  several  members  of  which  afterward 
rose  to  distinction  in  the  church.  He  did  not  distinguish 
himself  in  the  prescribed  studies  of  the  College,  but  read 
a  great  deal  in  EngHsh  poetry,  and  in  the  old  novelists, 
of  whom  he  chose  Fielding  as  his  model.  He  was  sufifi- 
ciently  prominent  in  social  life,  giving  and  receiving  his 
share  of  dinners.  His  literary  tastes  and  talents  began 
to  manifest  themselves  more  strongly.  He  was  connected 
with  an  undergraduate  periodical  called  The  Snob,  for 
which  he  wrote  a  burlesque  of  Tennyson's  prize  poem  on 
"Timbuctoo"  :  — 

"  In  Africa  —  a  quarter  of  the  world  — 
Men's  skins  are  black  ;  their  hair  is  crisp  and  curled ; 
And  somewhere  there,  unknown  to  public  view, 
A  mighty  city  lies,  called  Timbuctoo." 


WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE    THACKERAY.  $21 

In  1830  Thackeray  left  Cambridge  without  a  degree; 
but  his  sojourn  there  had  not  been  in  vain.  Apart  from 
his  enlarged  acquaintance  with  books,  and  his  still  larger 
acquaintance  with  men,  he  laid  there  the  foundation  of 
his  literary  taste  and  style.  The  loose  and  romantic 
manner  of  Dickens  became  impossible  to  him.  He  de- 
veloped the  severe  self-restraint  that  belongs  to  the  classic 
spirit.  His  style  is  characterized  by  clearness,  flexibility, 
and  force ;  and  it  may  be  fairly  claimed  that  he  is  the 
most  classic  of  all  our  noveUsts. 

After  leaving  the  University,  he  spent  some  months 
in  travel  on  the  Continent.  He  visited  Paris,  Rome, 
Dresden,  and  Weimar,  entered  largely  into  the  life  of 
the  people,  and  thus  broadened  his  knowledge  and  his 
sympathies.  He  spent  several  months  at  Weimar,  where 
he  met  Goethe.  "I  think,"  he  wrote  in  after  years,  "I 
have  never  seen  a  society  more  simple,  charitable,  courte- 
ous, gentleman-like,  than  that  of  the  dear  little  Saxon 
city  where  the  good  Schiller  and  the  great  Goethe  lived 
and  lie  buried."  He  preferred  Schiller  to  Goethe,  and 
"believed  him  to  be,  after  Shakespeare,  the  Poet."  He 
for  a  time  thought  of  translating  Schiller;  but  this,  like 
many  other  great  projects  of  his,  was  destined  not  to  be 
realized. 

After  returning  to  England,  Thackeray  began  the  study 
of  law.  As  with  so  many  other  men  of  literary  instincts, 
it  proved  distasteful.  He  found  difficulty  in  bringing 
himself  down  to  the  necessary  toil.  In  "  Pendennis  "  he 
has  given  us  a  picture  of  the  plodding  and  the  idle  law- 
student,  and  dwells  on  the  losses  and  limitations  of  the 
diligent  toiler.     "  He  could  not  cultivate  a  friendship,  or 


522  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

do  a  charity,  or  admire  a  work  of  genius,  or  kindle  at  the 
sight  of  beauty  or  the  sound  of  a  sweet  song  —  he  had 
no  time  and  no  eyes  for  anything  but  his  law  books.  All 
was  dark  outside  his  reading  lamp.  Love  and  nature  and 
art  (which  is  the  expression  of  our  praise  and  sense  of 
the  beautiful  world  of  God)  were  shut  out  from  him. 
And  as  he  turned  off  his  lonely  lamp  at  night,  he  never 
thought  but  that  he  had  spent  the  day  profitably,  and 
went  to  sleep  alike  thankless  and  remorseless."  This 
may  be  taken  as  an  ingenious  defence  of  his  own  lack 
of  diligence. 

When  he  became  of  age,  he  had  a  comfortable  fortune  of 
twenty  thousand  pounds  and  an  income  of  five  hundred  a 
year.  This  he  speedily  lost,  partly  through  gambhng  with 
sharpers,  and  partly  through  unfortunate  newspaper  enter- 
prises. Forced  to  earn  a  livelihood  for  himself,  he  turned 
to  art  and  went  to  Paris  to  find  a  home  for  himself  and  his 
mother.  He  bore  his  reverses  philosophically  and  after- 
ward turned  them  to  literary  account.  Writing  to  his 
mother  in  December,  1833,  he  says:  "I  have  been  very 
comfortably  installed  in  the  new  house  for  ten  days  and 
like  much  my  little  study  and  airy  bedroom.  I  am  sure 
we  shall  be  as  happy  here  as  possible ;  and  I  believe 
that  I  ought  to  thank  Heaven  for  making  me  poor,  as 
it  has  made  me  much  happier  than  I  should  have  been 
with  the  money."  He  became  an  artist  of  some  skill 
and  in  subsequent  years  was  accustomed  to  illustrate 
his  own  writings. 

But  the  man  who  is  born  to  write  will  write.  In  a  year 
or  two  we  find  him  again  in  London,  doing  whatever  work 
he  could  for  the  papers.     \\\  1835  he  is  recognized  among 


WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE    THACKERAY.  523 

the  contributors  to  Eraser  s  Magazine,  with  which  he  re- 
mained connected  for  a  dozen  years.  The  "  Memoirs  of 
Yellowplush,"  which  contains  the  observations  of  a  foot- 
man in  many  genteel  families,  appeared  in  1837.  It  is  a 
satire,  in  which  the  "  orthogwaphy  is  inaccuwate,"  but  the 
diction  none  the  less  telling.  The  author's  own  expe- 
rience no  doubt  furnished  the  basis  of  the  story  of  Mr. 
Dawkins,  who  was  fleeced  out  of  his  fortune  by  Mr. 
Deuceace.  There  is  probably  an  autobiographic  touch  in 
the  remonstrance  of  the  footman,  who  says,  when  his 
master,  in  recognition  of  his  talent,  is  about  to  dismiss 
him  :  "  Don't  send  me  away.  I  know  them  littery  chaps, 
and,  believe  me,  I'd  rather  be  a  footman.  The  work's 
not  so  hard  —  the  pay  is  better ;  the  vittels  incompyrably 
supearor." 

The  next  story  of  any  length  was  "  Catherine,"  which  was 
intended  to  satirize  Bulwer,  Ainsworth,  and  even  Dickens 
for  throwing  a  factitious  charm  around  blackguards  and 
criminals.  It  is  written  under  the  name  of  I  key  Solomons  : 
"  Be  it  granted,  Solomons  is  dull ;  but  don't  attack  his  mo- 
rality ;  he  humbly  submits  that,  in  his  poem,  no  man  shall 
mistake  virtue  for  vice,  no  man  shall  allow  a  single  senti- 
ment of  pity  or  admiration  to  enter  his  bosom  for  any  char- 
acter of  the  piece  ;  it  being  from  beginning  to  end  a  scene 
^of  unmixed  rascality  performed  by  persons  who  never 
deviate  into  good  feeling." 

But  more  important  than  either  of  the  foregoing  tales 
was  "The  History  of  Samuel  Titmarsh  and  the  Great 
Hoggarty  Diamond,"  which  came  out  in  Fraser  in  1841. 
Though  it  did  not  attract  great  attention,  and  the  editor 
made  the  disagreeable  suggestion  that  it  be  curtailed,  it 


524  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

possesses  much  interest,  and  illustrates,  within  brief  com- 
pass, the  leading  characteristics  of  Thackeray's  manner. 
Its  main  purpose  is  to  expose  the  villany  of  bubble  com- 
panies, and  to  exhibit  the  methods  by  which  rural  inexpe- 
rience is  imposed  upon.  It  concludes  with  the  sensible 
advice  "  never  to  embark  in  any  speculation,  of  which  the 
conduct  is  not  perfectly  clear,  and  of  which  the  agents 
are  not  perfectly  open  and  loyal." 

Other  contributions  to  Fraser  were,  "  Fitz-Boodle's  Con- 
fessions," "Men's  Wives,"  and  "Barry  Lyndon."  They 
are  all  satires  on  the  weaknesses,  blunders,  and  sins  of 
life.  Thackeray  had  an  almost  morbid  hatred  of  humbug 
and  pretentiousness,  and  was  never  weary  of  girding  at 
them.  In  the  first  chapter  of  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frank 
Berry,"  in  "  Men's  Wives,"  there  is  a  description  of 
Thackeray's  fisticuff  at  Charter  House,  which  resulted  in 
a  broken  nose  and  permanent  disfigurement.  The  most 
important  of  this  group  of  works  is  "  Barry  Lyndon,"  in 
which  a  sharper,  liar,  and  villain  is  made  to  give  a  me- 
moir of  himself.  In  spite  of  his  unbroken  series  of  villa- 
nies,  his  energy  and  valor  call  forth  some  measure  of 
sympathy. 

The  consideration  of  the  Fraser  contributions  has  car- 
ried us  far  beyond  an  important  event  in  Thackeray's  life. 
This  was  his  marriage,  which  took  place  in  1836.  For 
three  or  four  years  he  found  strength  and  happiness 
in  his  domestic  relations.  His  nature  craved  woman's 
tenderness.  It  was  during  these  years,  as  we  have  seen, 
that  he  laid  the  foundations  of  his  great  literary  fame. 
Then  came  a  misfortune  worse  even  than  death.  The 
health  of  his  wife  gave  way,  and  it  became  necessary  to 


WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE    THACKERAY.  525 

place  her  in  a  private  asylum.  Henceforth,  he  worked 
without  the  encouragement  of  a  cheerful  home  and  with 
a  heavy  sorrow  in  his  heart. 

In  1843  Thackeray  became  connected  with  PuiicJi,  to 
which  he  contributed  for  the  next  nine  or  ten  years.  He 
continued  the  same  admirable  vein  of  satire.  The  first  of 
his  contributions  was  "The  Lucky  Speculator"  —  a  ser- 
vant who,  beginning  with  twenty  pounds,  acquired  a  for- 
tune speculating  in  stocks,  and  who,  in  the  flood-tide  of 
his  prosperity,  cut  his  former  friends  and  affected  the 
fashionable  gentleman.  The  story  is  told  in  extracts 
from  his  diary.  The  portrayal  of  snobbery  is  admirable. 
The  hero  fell  in  love  with  a  noble  lady,  Angelina,  for 
whom,  as  he  tells  us,  his  "  pashn  hogmented  daily.  "  "  I 
gave  went  to  my  feelings,"  to  quote  from  the  diary,  "in 
the  following  lines.  .  .  .  She  was  wobbling  at  the  py- 
anna  as  I  hentered.  I  flung  the  convasation  upon  mew- 
sick  ;  said  I  sung  myself ;  and  on  her  rekwesting  me  to 
favor  her  with  somethink,  I  bust  out  with  my  pom  :  — 

"When  moonlike  on  the  hazure  seas 

In  soft  effulgence  swells, 
When  silver  jews  and  balmy  breaze 

Bend  down  the  lily's  bells  ; 
When  calm  and  deap,  the  rosy  sleap 

Has  lapt  your  soul  in  dreems, 
R  Hangeline.  R  lady  mine! 

Dost  thou  remember  Jeames?" 

Another  admirable  satire,  appearing  in  PtincJi,  was 
"  Novels  by  Eminent  Hands,"  in  which  the  peculiarities 
and  weaknesses  of  Bulwer,  Disraeh,  Cooper,  and  others 
are  amusingly  caricatured.     The  best  of  these  satires  is 


526  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

"Codlingsby,"  in  which  the  manner  of  Disraeli  is  taken 
off,  and  "  The  Stars  and  Stripes,"  in  which  Cooper's  style 
is  imitated.  But  more  important  than  either  "  The  Lucky 
Speculator  "  or  "  Novels  by  Eminent  Hands  "  was  "  The 
Book  of  Snobs,"  which  relentlessly  pursues  snobbery  in 
every  class  of  society.  The  author  professes  to  have  "  an 
eye  for  snobbery"  —  a  gift  for  which  he  felt  "an  abid- 
ing thankfulness."  But  his  satirical  vein  sometimes  car- 
ries him  too  far ;  and  his  eye  for  snobbery  was  so  keen 
that  he  occasionally  discerned  it  where  it  does  not  exist. 
Among  the  most  delightful  of  his  burlesques  is  "  Rebecca 
and  Rowena,"  a  sequel  to  Scott's  "  Ivanhoe,"  in  which 
Thackeray  corrects  what  he  regarded  as  the  unjust  treat- 
ment of  the  Jewish  maiden. 

The  year  1847  marks  a  turning  point  in  Thackeray's 
literary  career.  Up  to  this  time,  in  spite  of  the  admirable 
work  he  had  done,  he  remained  comparatively  unknown. 
His  great  contemporary  Dickens  had  fairly  distanced  him 
in  popularity  and  fame.  Only  a  few  recognized  his  excep- 
tional power.  He  chafed  somewhat  under  this  neglect, 
and  thought  for  a  time  of  working  up  a  reputation  through 
the  puffing  system ;  but  his  sterling  sense  of  honor  soon 
put  aside  the  temptation.  "  Puffs  are  good,"  he  wrote  to 
a  friend,  "  and  so  is  the  testimony  of  good  men ;  but  I 
don't  think  these  will  make  a  success  for  a  man,  and  he 
ought  to  stand  as  the  public  chooses  to  put  him."  But 
the  time  had  noAV  come  for  him  to  receive  the  recognition 
to  which  his  brilliant  gifts  entitled  him. 

In  the  year  last  mentioned,  he  began  the  publication  of 
"Vanity  Fair"  in  monthly  numbers.  After  a  few  months 
its  success  was  assured.     Mrs.  Carlyle  wrote  to  her  hus- 


WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE    THACKERAY.  527 

band  after  getting  the  first  four  numbers,  "Very  good, 
indeed  ;  beats  Dickens  out  of  the  world."  The  Edinbiirgh 
Reviciv  praised  the  novel,  placing  its  author  among  the 
most  remarkable  of  current  writers.  But  most  significant 
and  valuable  of  all  were  the  words  of  Charlotte  Bronte  in 
her  preface  to  "Jane  Eyre."  "  I  think  I  see  in  him,"  she 
says,  "  an  intellect  profounder  and  more  unique  than  his 
contemporaries  have  yet  recognized.  .  .  .  His  wit  is  bright, 
his  humor  attractive,  but  both  bear  the  same  relation  to 
his  serious  genius  that  the  mere  lambent  sheet-lightning 
playing  under  the  edge  of  the  summer  cloud,  does  to  the 
electric  death-spark  hid  in  its  womb."  From  this  time  on 
he  was  recognized  as  a  great  man  and  honored  by  every 
class  of  society. 

"Vanity  Fair,"  which  its  author  regarded  as  his  best 
work,  is  a  masterpiece  of  fiction,  though  it  departs  from 
the  usual  canons  of  novel-writing.  In  his  lectures  on  the 
"English  Humorists,"  Thackeray  said:  "I  suppose,  as 
long  as  novels  last  and  authors  aim  at  interesting  their 
public,  there  must  always  be  in  the  story  a  virtuous  and 
gallant  hero,  a  wicked  monster  his  opposite,  and  a  pretty 
girl  who  finds  a  champion ;  bravery  and  virtue  conquer 
beauty ;  and  vice,  after  seeming  to  triumph  through  a 
certain  number  of  pages,  is  sure  to  be  discomfited  in 
the  last  volume,  when  justice  overtakes  him  and  honest 
folks  come  by  their  own.  There  never  was,  perhaps,  a 
greatly  popular  story  but  this  simple  plot  was  carried 
through  it."  With  the  audacity  of  genius,  Thackeray 
departed  in  "Vanity  Fair"  from  this  conventional  and 
popular  ty]:)e.  It  is  a  novel  without  a  hero.  Though 
Dobbin  has  many  admirable  traits  of  character,  his  part 


528  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

among  the  dramatis  personcB  is  subordinate.  Becky  Sharp 
is  the  heroine ;  but  she  is  the  embodiment,  not  of  all  femi- 
nine loveliness,  but  of  unprincipled  shrewdness. 

In  constructing  a  work  of  fiction,  the  novelist  may 
adopt  any  one  of  three  methods :  he  may  describe  what 
is  romantic  or  extravagant  in  character  and  incident ;  he 
may  depict  ideal  or  poetic  personages  and  conditions ; 
or  he  may  adhere  strictly  to  reality,  portraying  men 
and  events  as  they  actually  exist.  Thackeray  adopted 
the  last  method  and  may  be  justly  regarded  as  the 
prince  of  English  realists.  At  the  same  time,  he  did 
not  aim  to  portray  life  in  its  fulness ;  and  with  his  in- 
tense dislike  of  sham  and  villany,  he  made  the  false 
and  sinful  side  of  society  most  prominent  in  his  works. 
In  "Vanity  Fair"  he  warns  his  readers  that  he  is  "going 
to  tell  a  tale  of  harrowing  villany."  To  many  persons 
it  is  depressing.  We  can  easily  understand  why  Thack- 
eray's children  used  to  say  to  him,  "  Papa,  why  don't 
you  write  books  like  Mr.  Dickens  ? "  But  after  a  large 
acquaintance  with  life  has  taught  us  something  of  its 
shams  and  villanies,  "Vanity  Fair"  becomes  a  delight- 
ful book,  holding  the  mirror  up  to  the  darker  side  of 
society. 

Thackeray's  next  great  novel  was  "  Pendennis,"  the 
first  number  of  which  appeared  in  1848,  a  few  months 
after  the  conclusion  of  "  Vanity  Fair."  It  contains  a 
larger  autobiographic  element  than  any  of  his  other 
writings.  Arthur  Pendennis,  the  hero,  "  is  a  very  good- 
natured,  generous  young  fellow,"  he  once  wrote,  "and  I 
begin  to  like  him  considerably.  I  wonder  whether  he 
is  interesting  to   me  for   selfish   reasons,   and   because   I 


WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE    THACKERAY.  529 

fancy  we  resemble  each  other  in  many  points,  and 
whether  I  can  get  the  pubHc  to  like  him  too."  It 
fairly  rivals  its  predecessor  in  interest.  Thackeray  was 
not  usually  happy  in  his  portrayal  of  good  women.  As 
with  Amelia  in  "Vanity  Fair,"  their  goodness  is  not 
supported  by  a  corresponding  wisdom.  But  in  "  Pen- 
dennis "  we  find  an  exception :  Laura  Bell  is  capable 
and  clever  as  well  as  good  —  entirely  too  bright  and 
good,  some  persons  think,  for  the  very  faulty  hero, 
Arthur  Pendennis. 

In  the  original  preface  to  "  Pendennis "  the  author 
defends  his  realistic  method.  He  mildly  censures  the 
public  for  preferring  what  is  unreal  to  what  is  true.  He 
declares  that  it  is  not  his  purpose  to  idealize  his  char- 
acters with  Raphaelistic  touches.  "  You  will  not  sym- 
pathize," he  says  substantially,  "with  this  young  man  of 
mine,  this  Pendennis,  because  he  is  neither  angel  nor  imp. 
If  it  be  so,  let  it  be  so.  I  will  not  paint  for  you  angels 
or  imps,  because  I  do  not  see  them.  The  young  man  of 
the  day,  whom  I  do  see,  and  of  whom  I  know  the  inside 
and  the  out  thoroughly,  him  I  have  painted  for  you ;  and 
here  he  is,  whether  you  like  the  picture  or  not." 

Thackeray  has  often  been  accused  of  being  a  cynic,  but 
the  accusation  is  hardly  just.  No  one  had  a  kinder  heart 
and  a  larger  charity  for  the  weaknesses  of  men.  While 
his  experience  and  his  observation  made  him  feel  keenly 
the  evils  in  life,  he  has  not  portrayed  them  with  the  bit- 
terness of  the  cynic.  The  closing  words  of  "  Pendennis  " 
reveal  to  us  the  spirit  with  which  he  wrote :  "  If  the  best 
men  do  not  draw  the  great  prizes  in  life,  we  know  it  has 
been  so  settled  by  the  Ordainer  of  the  lottery.     We  own, 

2  M 


530  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

and  see  daily,  how  the  false  and  worthless  live  and  pros- 
per, while  the  good  are  called  away,  and  the  dear  and 
young  perish  untimely  —  we  perceive  in  every  man's  life 
the  maimed  happiness,  the  frequent  falling,  the  bootless 
endeavor,  the  struggle  of  right  and  wrong,  in  which  the 
strong  often  succumb  and  the  swift  fail ;  we  see  flowers 
of  good  blooming  in  foul  places,  as,  in  the  most  lofty 
and  splendid  fortunes,  flaws  of  vice  and  meanness,  and 
stains  of  evil ;  and,  knowing  how  mean  the  best  of  us  is, 
let  us  give  a  hand  of  charity  to  Arthur  Pendennis,  with 
all  his  faults  and  shortcomings,  who  does  not  claim  to 
be  a  hero,  but  only  a  man  and  a  brother." 

"Henry  Esmond,"  which  appeared  in  1852,  is  com- 
monly regarded  as  the  best  of  Thackeray's  novels,  though 
it  was  rather  coldly  received  at  the  time  of  its  publication. 
George  Eliot  pronounced  it  an  "uncomfortable  book,"  and 
even  Charlotte  Bronte  thought  it  contained  "too  much 
history  and  too  little  story."  The  author  bestowed  great 
labor  on  "  Henry  Esmond."  The  period  of  the  story 
is  the  age  of  Queen  Anne,  and  a  number  of  historical 
characters,  including  Steele  and  Addison,  are  introduced. 
The  style  is  in  perfect  keeping  with  the  times  described, 
and  the  incidents  of  the  story  are  so  naturally  inter- 
woven with  the  historical  events  that  the  earlier  half  of 
the  eighteenth  century  is  made  to  live  again  before  us. 
It  is  a  great  historical  novel  —  one  of  the  greatest  in  our 
language.  The  tone  of  the  book  is  one  of  disappointment 
and  sadness.  "  And  yet,"  to  use  the  words  of  Trollope, 
"  there  is  not  a  page  in  the  book  over  which  a  thoughtful 
reader  cannot  pause  with  delight.  The  nature  in  it  is  true 
nature." 


WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE    THACKERAY.  53 1 

Thackeray  wrote  two  other  novels  that  rank  among  his 
principal  works,  "  The  Newcomes,"  which  appeared  in 
1855,  and  "The  Virginians,"  which  appeared  in  1859. 
The  former  is  a  sequel  to  "  Pendennis,"  and  the  latter  to 
"Henry  Esmond."  "The  Virginians"  is  not  a  closely 
woven  story,  and  as  a  whole  is  lacking  in  interest.  But 
"The  Newcomes"  deserves  a  place  by  the  side  of  the 
author's  two  or  three  greatest  works.  It  exhibits  his  usual 
melancholy  and  satirical  vein.  Colonel  Newcome  is  one 
of  his  most  admirable  creations,  and  the  death-bed  scene 
is  a  notable  passage  for  its  simple  pathos  :  "  At  the  usual 
evening  hour  the  chapel  bell  began  to  toll,  and  Thomas 
Newcome's  hands  outside  the  bed  feebly  beat  time.  And 
just  as  the  last  bell  struck,  a  peculiar  sweet  smile  shone 
over  his  face,  and  he  lifted  up  his  head  a  little,  and  quickly 
said,  '  Adsum  ! '  and  fell  back.  It  was  the  word  we  used 
at  school,  when  names  were  called ;  and  lo,  he,  whose 
heart  was  as  that  of  a  little  child,  had  answered  to  his 
name,  and  stood  in  the  presence  of  the  Master." 

Before  his  last  great  works  were  written,  Thackeray  had 
taken  to  lecturing,  to  which  he  was  impelled  not  so  much 
by  natural  inclination  as  by  financial  need.  He  began  his 
career  as  a  lecturer  in  185 1,  with  a  course  of  six  lectures 
on  "  The  English  Humorists,"  among  whom  he  included, 
besides  a  few  others.  Swift,  Addison,  Steele,  Pope,  and 
Goldsmith.  The  subject  was  a  thoroughly  congenial  one, 
and  the  general  treatment  is  sympathetic  and  delightful. 
He  speaks  of  the  men  and  their  lives  rather  than  of  their 
books,  and  makes  humor  mean  more  than  the  power  of 
exciting  laughter.  "  The  humorous  writer,"  he  says,  "  pro- 
fesses to  awaken   and  direct  your  love,   your  pity,  your 


532  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

kindness,  —  your  scorn  for  untruth,  pretension,  imposture, 
—  your  tenderness  for  the  weak,  the  poor,  the  oppressed, 
the  unhappy."  In  this  sense  Thackeray  himself  deserves 
to  rank  among  the  greatest  of  Enghsh  humorists. 

Unlike  Dickens,  who  was  perfectly  at  ease  before  an 
audience,  Thackeray  was  painfully  timid.  He  could  not 
think  of  appearing  in  public  without  trepidation.  His  first 
course  was  attended  by  the  world  of  fashion.  Charlotte 
Bronte,  who  was  present  at  the  lecture  on  Congreve  and 
Addison,  admirably  characterized  their  matter  and  deliv- 
ery :  "  They  are  a  sort  of  essays,  characterized  by  his  own 
peculiar  originality  and  power,  and  delivered  with  a  fin- 
ished taste  and  ease,  which  is  felt  but  cannot  be  described." 

After  delivering  the  lectures  in  the  principal  cities  of 
England,  Thackeray  came  to  America  in  the  latter  part 
of  1852.  He  looked  at  American  hfe  with  very  kindly 
eyes,  and  enjoyed,  as  he  wrote,  the  rush  and  restlessness. 
Naturally,  the  "lion  business  night  after  night"  became 
irksome  to  him  ;  but  he  was  pleased  with  the  enthusiastic 
reception  he  generally  received.  Three  years  later  he 
visited  this  country  again  and  delivered  his  "  Four 
Georges."  These  lectures  are  not  historical  treatises,  but 
personal  sketches  set  in  the  social  life  of  the  times.  Filled 
with  striking  incident  and  anecdote,  they  give  an  interest- 
ing glimpse  of  the  period  of  the  Georges,  and  were  re- 
ceived in  America  with  even  more  favor  than  "  The 
English  Humorists."  They  were  afterward  delivered  in 
the  principal  cities  of  England,  but  with  less  applause. 

Though  Thackeray  can  hardly  be  regarded  as  a  poet, 
he  was  a  versifier  of  uncommon  skill.  Like  his  prose 
works,  his  poems  are  mostly  humorous  and  satirical ;  but 


WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE    THACKERAY.  533 

at  the  same  time  there  is  an  undertone  of  seriousness  and 
pathos  running  through  them.  The  "  Sorrows  of  Wer- 
ther,"  a  satire  on  Goethe's  romance  of  the  same  name,  is 
well  known :  — 

"  Werther  had  a  love  for  Charlotte 
Such  as  words  could  never  utter ; 
Would  you  know  how  first  he  met  her? 
She  was  cutting  bread  and  butter." 

"The  End  of  the  Play  "  is  one  of  the  best  of  his  more 
serious  poems,  breathing  a  pathetic  sadness.  "  The  Cane- 
Bottomed  Chair"  was  the  author's  favorite  ballad;  but  in 
no  other  poem  has  he  put  so  much  of  his  feeling  in  regard 
to  life  as  in  "  Vanitas  Vanitatum  "  :  — 

"  O  vanity  of  vanities ! 

How  wayward  the  decrees  of  fate  are  ; 
How  very  weak  the  very  wise, 

How  very  small  the  very  great  are! 

"Though  thrice  a  thousand  years  ha\e  past, 
Since  David's  son,  the  sad  and  splendid, 
The  weary  King  Ecclesiast, 

Upon  his  awful  tablets  penned  it, — 

"  Methinks  the  text  is  never  stale. 
And  life  is  every  day  renewing 
Fresh  comments  on  the  old,  old  tale 
Of  folly,  fortune,  glory,  ruin." 

In  1857  Thackeray  made  an  effort  to  secure  a  seat  in 
Parliament,  but  was  defeated.  Two  years  later  the  Corn- 
hill  Magazine  was  established  under  his  editorial  manage- 
ment. He  gathered  about  him  a  large  number  of  able 
contributors,   and   the  Magazine  was  a  success  from  the 


534  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Start.  More  than  one  hundred  thousand  copies  of  the 
first  number  were  sold.  In  this  periodical  appeared 
the  stories  of  "  Lovel  the  Widower"  and  "The  Adven- 
tures of  Philip,"  neither  of  which  is  up  to  the  standard  of 
Thackeray's  best  work.  The  most  interesting  of  his  con- 
tributions to  the  CoruJdll  was  the  "  Roundabout  Papers," 
essays  in  which  his  imaginative  and  moralizing  faculties 
were  allowed  free  play.  They  are  delightful  papers,  re- 
vealing the  more  playful  and  amiable  side  of  his  nature. 
There  are  many  autobiographic  touches.  "  Perhaps  of  all 
the  novel-spiriners  now  extant,"  he  says  in  playful  refer- 
ence to  his  manner  of  writing,  "  the  present  speaker  is  the 
most  addicted  to  preaching."  * 

Beneath  the  heavy  cares  and  sorrows  of  life,  Thackeray 
had  aged  prematurely.  He  died  on  Christmas  eve,  1863, 
and  lies  buried  in  Kensal  Green  Cemetery.  A  plain  stone, 
bearing  his  name  and  the  date  of  his  birth  and  death,  marks 
his  resting  place ;  a  greater  monument  is  found  in  his  im- 
perishable works.  His  nature  was  deeply  religious,  and 
he  seems  to  have  remained  untouched  by  the  doubts  so 
prevalent  in  this  century.  He  looked  upon  death  as  a 
friend.  "A  just  man  summoned  by  God,"  he  once  wrote, 
"  for  what  purpose  can  he  go  but  to  meet  the  Divine  love 
and  goodness  ?  " 


Etching  by  Samuel  Ilullyer. 


ciJakles  dickens.  535 


CHARLES    DICKENS. 

JUST  how  much  a  man  owes  to  the  age  in  which  he 
happens  to  be  born,  it  is  difficult  to  determine.  But  what- 
ever genius  he  may  possess,  it  is  certain  that  to  a  greater 
or  less  degree  he  is  influenced  and  moulded  by  his  sur- 
roundings. No  account  of  an  author's  Hfe  and  work  is 
complete  without  a  consideration  of  his  environment. 
This  consideration  shows  us  something  of  the  nature  of 
his  attainments,  the  source  of  his  material,  and  the  char- 
acter of  the  public  he  addresses. 

Dickens  was  fortunate  in  coming  upon  the  stage  at 
an  opportune  moment.  The  brilliant  Victorian  Age  had 
scarcely  begun.  Shelley,  Keats,  Byron,  Coleridge,  Lamb, 
were  names  of  the  past ;  and  that  mighty  constellation  of 
Victorian  writers  —  Carlyle,  Macaulay,  Tennyson,  Brown- 
ing, and  others  —  was  just  appearing  above  the  horizon. 
In  the  realm  of  fiction  particularly,  there  was  a  void. 
Scott  had  lain  in  his  tomb  five  years ;  and  in  spite  of  the 
partial  success  of  Bulwer  and  Disraeli,  no  one  had  been 
found  worthy  to  take  his  place.  At  such  a  time  did  Dick- 
ens appear  upon  the  scene  to  become  for  many  years  the 
acknowledged  prince  of  novelists. 

Charles  Dickens,  the  second  in  a  family  of  eight  chil- 
dren, was  born  in  Portsea,  Feb.  7,  18 12.  His  father 
was  at  that  time  a  government  clerk  connected  with  the 
Portsmouth    dockyard.     He   was,  according   to    his  son's 


536  ENGLISH  LITEPATURE. 

testimony,  industrious  and  conscientious  in  the  discharge 
of  business,  and  "as  kind-hearted  and  generous  a  man  as 
ever  lived  in  the  world."  But  thrift  was  not  one  of  his 
virtues.  With  an  increasing  family  and  accumulating 
debts,  he  moved  to  London  when  his  son  was  two  years 
old,  and  not  long  afterward  to  Chatham.  His  wife  was 
a  woman  of  some  accomplishments,  but  without  much 
practical  wisdom  and  force  of  character. 

The  experiences  of  the  family  at  this  period  and  after 
their  return  to  London  have  been  immortalized  in  "  David 
Copperfield."  To  have  a  complete  record,  it  is  only 
necessary  to  substitute  John  Dickens  for  the  easy-going 
Mr.  Micawber.  Even  the  "  Boarding  EstabHshment  for 
Young  Ladies  "  is  not  a  fiction  ;  but  unfortunately  for  the 
welfare  of  the  family  no  pupils  ever  came,  and  the  house 
was  visited  only  by  a  growing  number  of  inexorable 
creditors.  At  last  the  elder  Dickens  was  thrown  into 
the  Marshalsea  prison  for  debt,  where  he  moralized  in 
much  the  same  strain  as  Micawber.  With  tears  he  con- 
jured his  son  "  to  take  warning  by  his  fate,  and  to  observe 
that  if  a  man  had  twenty  pounds  a  year  for  his  income, 
and  spent  nineteen  pounds  nineteen  shillings  and  sixpence 
he  would  be  happy,  but  that  if  he  spent  twenty  pounds 
one  he  would  be  miserable." 

At  Chatham  the  young  Charles  had  been  sent  to  school, 
where  he  showed  decided  literary  tastes.  He  once  said 
of  himself  that  he  had  been  "  a  writer  from  a  mere  baby, 
an  actor  always."  His  father  had  collected  a  little  library, 
iri  which  the  precocious  boy  was  able  to  gratify  his  taste 
for  reading.  He  had  a  greedy  relish  for  books  of  voyage 
and  travel ;  but  those  which  exerted  the  greatest  influence 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  537 

upon  him  were  works  of  fiction.  They  appealed  to  his 
active  imagination.  Among  the  books  read  at  this  time 
were  the  works  of  the  older  novelists  :  "  Roderick  Ran- 
dom," "Humphrey  Clinker,"  "Tom  Jones,"  "The  Vicar 
of  Wakefield,"  "Don  Quixote,"  "Gil  Bias,"  and  "Robin- 
son Crusoe."  He  entered  into  the  deepest  sympathy  with 
the  leading  characters,  and  emulated  their  deeds  of  adven- 
ture and  heroism.  It  is  not  strange  that  thus  early  he 
cherished  the  ambition  to  become  "  a  learned  and  dis- 
tinguished man." 

In  182 1  the  family  removed  from  Chatham  to  London, 
and  the  trials  of  the  young  Charles  began.  The  family 
finances  went  from  bad  to  worse.  At  the  age  of  ten  the 
bookish,  imaginative  boy  was  placed  in  a  blacking  ware- 
house, where  he  pasted  labels  on  bottles  for  six  or  seven 
shillings  a  week.  Neglected  by  his  parents,  thrown  with 
rude  companions,  and  subject  to  many  hardships,  he  felt 
a  strong  sense  of  degradation.  Years  afterward  he  wrote 
of  this  sorrowful  time  :  "  How  much  I  suffered,  it  is  utterly 
beyond  my  power  to  tell.  ...  I  know  that  but  for  the 
mercy  of  God,  I  might  easily  have  been,  for  any  care  that 
was  taken  of  me,  a  little  robber  or  a  httle  vagabond.  My 
whole  nature  was  so  penetrated  with  grief  and  humiliation 
of  such  considerations,  that  even  now,  famous  and  caressed 
and  happy,  I  often  forget  in  my  dreams  that  I  have  a  dear 
wife  and  child,  and  wander  desolately  back  to  that  time 
of  my  life."  But  more  than  he  ever  realized,  perhaps, 
this  experience  was  valuable  to  him.  Out  of  the  trials 
of  this  period  he  was  storing  up  treasures  of  character 
and  incident,  of  which  he  afterward  made  golden  use. 

A  fortunate  legacy,  at  the  end  of  a  few  months,  enabled 


538  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

the  elder  Dickens  to  get  out  of  the  debtors'  prison ;  and 
Charles,  released  by  a  timely  quarrel  from  the  drudgery 
of  the  blacking  warehouse,  was  sent  in  1824  to  Wellington 
House  Academy.  It  was  a  school  of  the  old  style,  which 
he  did  so  much  in  later  years  to  render  impossible  in 
England.  The  head-master's  chief  qualification  was 
dexterity  in  the  use  of  the  cane,  and  he  furnished  more 
than  one  trait  for  Mr.  Creakle.  Charles  did  not  bring 
away  from  the  school  any  great  store  of  classic  learning. 
He  always  lamented  his  defective  education.  But  with- 
out knowing  it,  he  got  what  for  him  was  better  than  book 
learning.  He  enriched  his  experience  with  the  humors 
and  characters  of  the  school.  Whatever  may  have  been 
his  success  as  a  student,  his  literary  gifts  were  recognized 
among  his  comrades,  and  he  was  looked  up  to  as  a  writer 
of  tales  and  a  leader  in  amateur  theatricals. 

His  school  life  lasted  only  a  year  or  two.  It  then  be- 
came necessary  for  him  to  think  of  earning  his  bread. 
In  1827  he  entered  a  solicitor's  office  on  a  salary  of  thir- 
teen shillings  and  sixpence  a  week.  Here  he  had  a  new 
field  of  observation,  which  he  turned  to  good  account. 
He  not  only  acquainted  himself  with  the  technicalities  of 
courts  and  law,  but  also  enriched  his  mind  with  a  store 
of  characters  and  incidents  relating  to  the  legal  profes- 
sion. But  his  ambition  was  not  satisfied  with  the  drudg- 
ery of  a  clerkship ;  and  at  the  end  of  eighteen  months, 
stimulated  by  the  example  of  his  father  who  had  become 
parliamentary  reporter  for  one  of  the  London  papers,  he 
resolved  to  become  a  reporter  too. 

He  was  at  this  time  about  seventeen  and  character- 
ized by  an  indomitable  will   and  a  determination    "if  he 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  539 

did  anything  at  all,  to  do  it  with  his  might."  He  threw 
himself  into  his  new  career  with  great  energy.  Short- 
hand then,  even  more  than  at  the  present  time,  was  a 
difficult  art,  and  he  spent  many  weary  months  in  diligent 
practice  before  offering  himself  as  a  skilled  reporter. 
He  soon  discovered  that  his  lack  of  general  reading  was 
a  serious  obstacle  to  his  success,  and  with  dauntless 
courage  he  set  about  supplying  this  deficiency  by  con- 
stant attendance  at  the  British  Museum.  Of  the  many 
hardships  of  these  days  he  has  given  us  a  charming 
description  in  an  address  delivered  at  a  public  dinner 
some  two  years  before  his  death.  "  I  have  often  tran- 
scribed for  the  printer,"  he  said,  "from  my  shorthand 
notes  important  public  speeches,  in  which  the  strictest 
accuracy  was  required,  and  a  mistake  in  which  would 
have  been,  to  a  young  man,  severely  compromising,  writ- 
ing on  the  palm  of  my  hand,  by  the  light  of  a  dark  lan- 
tern, in  a  post-chaise  and  four,  galloping  through  a  wild 
country,  and  through  the  dead  of  night,  at  the  then  sur- 
prising rate  of  fifteen  miles  an  hour.  .  .  .  Returning  home 
from  excited  political  meetings  in  the  country  to  the  wait- 
ing press  in  London,  I  do  verily  believe  I  have  been 
upset  in  almost  every  description  of  vehicle  known  in 
this  country.  I  have  been,  in  my  time,  belated  in  miry 
by-roads,  toward  the  small  hours,  forty  or  fifty  miles 
from  London,  in  a  wheelless  carriage,  with  exhausted 
horses  and  drunken  postboys,  and  have  got  back  in  time 
for  publication,  to  be  received  with  never-forgotten  com- 
pliments." 

We  have  now  reached  the  time  when   Dickens  at  last 
found  his  true  vocation,  for  which,  unconsciously  to  himself, 


540  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

all  his  previous  experience,  and  particularly  his  newspaper 
training,  had  specially  fitted  him.  In  December,  1833,  his 
first  literary  sketch  was  "dropped  stealthily,  with  fear  and 
trembling,"  to  use  his  own  words,  "into  a  dark  letter-box, 
in  a  dark  office,  up  a  dark  court  in  Fleet  Street."  It  was 
accepted,  and  "appeared  in  all  the  glory  of  print."  He 
was  so  filled  with  pleasure  and  pride,  he  tells  us,  in  pur- 
chasing a  copy  of  the  Magarjinc  in  which  it  was  published, 
that  he  went  into  Westminster  Hall  to  hide  the  tears 
of  joy  that  would  come  into  his  eyes.  The  paper  which 
he  thus  described,  was  subsequently  published  in  the 
"Sketches  by  Boz,"  as  "Mr.  Minns  and  his  Cousin." 

Encouraged'  by  this  success,  Dickens  continued  for  the 
next  year  or  two  to  write  stories  and  sketches  for  Tlie  Old 
Monthly  Magasine  and  for  The  Evening  Chronicle.  They 
were  then  republished  in  a  volume,  for  which  the  author 
received  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds.  The  "  Sketches  " 
reveal  the  extraordinary  power  of  Dickens  as  an  observer, 
and  contain  clear  intimations  of  his  future  greatness. 
"London  —  its  sins  and  sorrows,  its  gayeties  and  amuse- 
ments, its  suburban  gentilities  and  central  squalor,  the 
aspects  of  its  streets,  and  the  humors  of  the  dingier  classes 
among  its  inhabitants  —  all  this  had  certainly  never  been 
so  seen  and  described  before." 

While  continuing  his  duties  as  reporter,  Dickens  began 
the  work  that  was  quickly  to  establish  his  reputation  and 
to  confirm  him  in  a  literary  career  of  astonishing  fruitful- 
ness  and  success.  In  a  later  preface  to  the  book,  he  tells 
us  how  "  Pickwick  "  came  to  be  written.  It  was  proposed 
by  the  publishers  that  he  should  write  something  to  accom- 
pany  monthly  illustrations  by  the   caricaturist   Seymour. 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  54 1 

He  consented  on  condition  that  he  was  to  have  control  of 
the  story,  and  that  the  illustrations  should  rise  naturally 
from  its  characters  and  incidents.  The  first  number  of  the 
"  Posthumous  Papers  of  the  Pickwick  Club  "  appeared  in 
March,  1836.  At  first  the  success  of  the  story  seemed 
doubtful ;  but  after  the  fifth  number,  in  which  Sam  Weller 
appeared,  it  grew  rapidly  in  popularity.  In  a  few  months 
the  sale  of  the  successive  numbers  jumped  from  a  few 
hundred  to  forty  thousand,  and  "Pickwick"  was  recog- 
nized as  the  most  popular  novel  of  its  day. 

"  Pickwick  "  has  remained  one  of  its  author's  most  popu- 
lar books.  In  several  particulars  it  illustrates  his  peculiar 
methods  and  powers.  Th,ough  possessed  of  no  small  de- 
gree of  dramatic  talent,  Dickens  does  not  often  make  use 
of  elaborate  plots.  He  is  preeminently  a  novelist  of  inci- 
dent. He  places  before  us  graphic  scenes  rather  than 
profound  studies.  His  characters  are  vividly  drawn,  but 
generally  with  the  exaggeration  of  caricature.  He  has  a 
dominant  but  kindly  sense  of  humor,  which,  less  refined 
than  that  of  a  Lamb  or  Irving,  is  exhibited  most  frequently 
in  absurd  characters  and  ridiculous  situations.  Besides  all 
this,  there  is  found  in  "  Pickwick  "  an  abounding  and  con- 
tagious vitality,  which  constitutes  one  of  the  great  charms 
of  the  book. 

An  etching  by  Carlyle,  who  met  Dickens  at  a  dinner 
party,  brings  before  us  his  personal  appearance  and  man- 
ner at  this  time.  "  He  is  a  fine  little  fellow  —  Boz,  I  think. 
Clear,  blue,  intelligent  eyes,  eyebrows  that  he  arches 
amazingly,  large  protrusive  rather  large  mouth,  a  face  of 
most  extreme  mobility,  which  he  shuttles  about  —  eye- 
brows, eyes,  mouth,  and  all  —  in  a  very  singular  manner 


542  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

while  speaking.  Surmount  this  with  a  loose  coil  of  com- 
mon-colored hair,  and  set  it  on  a  small  compact  figure,  very 
small,  and  dressed  a  la  U  Orsay  rather  than  well  —  this  is 
Pickwick.  For  the  rest,  a  quiet  shrewd-looking  little 
fellow,  who  seems  to  guess  pretty  well  what  he  is  and 
what  others  are." 

Two  days  after  the  appearance  of  the  first  number  of 
"  Pickwick "  Dickens  married  Catharine  Hogarth,  the 
daughter  of  a  fellow-worker  on  the  CJironicle.  He  began 
his  wedded  life  modestly,  taking  his  bride  to  his  bachelor 
quarters  in  Furnival's  Inn,  much  after  the  manner  of 
Tommy  Traddles  in  "  David  Copperfield."  But  as  his  in- 
come increased,  he  occupied  niore  comfortable  lodgings, 
till  at  last  he  purchased  Gad's  Hill  Place  as  his  permanent 
home,  and  so  fulfilled  a  resolution  of  his  ambitious  child- 
hood. For  a  number  of  years  his  domestic  relations  were 
happy  enough.  He  delighted  in  his  children.  "  He  never 
was  too  busy,"  his  daughter  tells  us,  "to  interest  himself 
in  his  children's  occupations,  lessons,  amusements,  and  gen- 
eral welfare."  But  later  there  came  an  unfortunate 
change ;  and  after  twenty  years  of  wedded  life,  the  un- 
happy pair  agreed  to  separate.  It  was  a  case  of  incom- 
patibility of  temper,  which  neither  had  the  strength  to 
overcome  or  the  patience  to  bear. 

During  the  next  few  years  after  the  success  of  "  Pick- 
wick," the  amount  of  work  Dickens  accomplished  is  amaz- 
ing. While  writing  the  successive  numbers  of  "  Pickwick," 
he  assumed  the  editorship  of  Bentlcy  s  Miscellany,  and 
began  at  once  the  publication  of  "  Oliver  Twist."  Early 
in  1838,  and  simultaneously  with  "Oliver  Twist,"  he  issued 
the  first  numbers  of  "Nicholas  Nickleby."     Besides  these 


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CHARLES  DICKENS.  543 

three  masterpieces,  he  wrote  several  plays,  none  of  which, 
however,  added  to  his  fame.  "  Oliver  Twist,"  one  of  the 
most  interesting  of  our  author's  works,  was  written  to  por- 
tray the  criminal  side  of  London  life.  "  It  appeared  to 
me,"  he  says,  "  that  to  draw  a  knot  of  such  associates  in 
crime  as  really  did  exist ;  to  paint  them  in  all  their  de- 
formity, in  all  their  wretchedness,  in  all  the  squalid  misery 
of  their  lives ;  to  show  them  as  they  really  were,  forever 
skulking  uneasily  through  the  dirtiest  paths  of  Hfe,  with 
the  great,  black,  ghostly  gallows  closing  up  their  prospect, 
turn  them  where  they  might  —  it  appeared  to  me  that  to 
do  this,  would  be  to  attempt  a  something  which  was 
needed,  and  which  would  be  a  service  to  society."  It  is  a 
strong  piece  of  realism,  in  which  the  glamour  sometimes 
thrown  around  crime  is  ruthlessly  torn  away. 

"  Nicholas  Nickleby  "  was  likewise  written  with  a  pur- 
pose. It  was  intended  to  expose  the  cruelties  practised  in 
certain  Yorkshire  schools,  and  to  awaken  sympathy  for 
the  unhappy  victims.  So  thoroughly  had  Dickens  ac- 
quainted himself  with  the  scene  of  the  story  that  the  origi- 
nal of  Dotheboys  Hall  was  identified  without  difficulty. 
The  book  hit  its  mark,  and  as  a  result  of  the  exposures  it 
made,  and  of  the  public  interest  it  aroused,  the  class  of 
schools  attacked  was  in  large  measure  reformed. 

His  methods  of  work,  as  followed  at  this  period,  are  not 
without  interest.  His  favorite  time  for  writing  was  the 
morning,  though  when  heavily  pressed  he  labored  far  into 
the  night.  He  worked  with  intense  concentration.  When 
weary  with  mental  exertion,  he  sought  recreation  in  abun- 
dant physical  exercise.  At  first  riding  —  fifteen  miles  out 
and  fifteen  miles  in  —  was  his  favorite  means,  but  soon  he 


544  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

became  an  indefatigable  pedestrian  and  perambulated 
London  in  all  directions.  He  frequently  walked  twenty 
or  thirty  miles  at  a  stretch.  His  favorite  time  for  walk- 
ing was  at  night,  when  the  great  city  seemed  to  possess  a 
fascination  for  him.  He  never  grew  tired  of  it,  and  looked 
at  in  this  light,  the  opening  pages  of  "  Old  Curiosity  Shop" 
have  an  autobiographic  interest. 

In  1840  Dickens  began  the  publication  of  a  weekly 
periodical.  Master  HumpJirey's  Clock,  containing  essays, 
short  stories,  and  miscellaneous  papers.  It  started  with  a 
sale  of  seventy  thousand  copies.  But  the  public  was  dis- 
appointed, and  Dickens  saved  the  enterprise  from  failure 
by  beginning  the  publication  of  "  Old  Curiosity  Shop." 
The  heroine  of  this  novel  is  Little  Nell,  the  original  of 
whom  was  Mary  Hogarth,  a  younger  sister  of  the  author's 
wife.  She  had  won  a  large  place  in  his  heart  as  the  ideal 
of  feminine  loveliness.  Of  all  the  children  Dickens  has 
portrayed  (and  he  had  a  rare  sympathy  with  the  humor 
and  pathos  of  childhood),  Little  Nell  has  been  the  fav- 
orite. The  pathos  of  her  story  has  won  all  hearts ;  even 
Jeffrey,  the  savage  editor  of  the  Edinburgh  Review,  paid 
her  the  tribute  of  tears. 

After  "  Old  Curiosity  Shop  "  came  "  Barnaby  Rudge," 
which  was  published  also  in  weekly  instalments  in  1841. 
It  is  one  of  the  two  historical  novels  which  Dickens  es- 
sayed, the  other  being  "A  Tale  of  Two  Cities,"  which  is 
connected  with  the  French  Revolution.  Many  of  the 
scenes  of  "  Barnaby  Rudge "  are  laid  among  the  No. 
Popery  Riots  of  1780.  It  describes  these  riotous  scenes 
in  words  of  blood  and  fire.  But  the  book  did  not  afford 
ample  scope  for  the  author's  pathos  and  humor;  and,  in 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  545 

spite  of  its  interest,  it  is  generally  regarded  as  one  of  his 
least  characteristic  works. 

During  this  period  of  great  literary  activity  Dickens's 
passion  for  travelling  became  very  strong.  While  at  work 
he  taxed  his  nervous  energies  to  the  utmost,  and  therefore 
felt,  from  time  to  time,  the  need  of  rest  and  recreation. 
He  also  desired,  no  doubt,  to  enrich  his  experience  by  see- 
ing new  countries  and  new  manners.  He  wandered  over 
nearly  every  part  of  England  and  made  trips  to  the  Con- 
tinent. In  1 84 1  he  was  invited  to  Edinburgh,  where  he 
was  given  the  freedom  of  the  city  and  almost  over- 
whelmed with  hospitalities.  Early  the  following  year,  in 
company  with  his  wife,  he  embarked  for  America,  where 
he  spent  four  months  in  visiting  the  principal  cities.  At 
a  great  public  dinner  in  New  York  Washington  Irving 
welcomed  him  as  "  the  guest  of  the  nation."  But  the 
young  republic  did  not  make  a  favorable  impression  upon 
him.  "  It  is  of  no  use,"  he  wrote  to  a  friend,  "  I  am  dis- 
appointed. This  is  not  the  republic  I  came  to  see;  this 
is  not  the  republic  of  my  imagination." 

A  few  months  after  his  return  to  England  he  gave  the 
public  his  impressions  of  our  country  in  "  American  Notes," 
and  a  year  or  two  later  in  "  Martin  Chuzzlewit,"  one  of  his 
strongest  books.  In  spite  of  the  princely  reception  that 
had  been  accorded  him,  his  criticism  and  satire  of  Ameri- 
can life  were  severe  and  unjust.  In  "Martin  Chuzzlewit," 
in  particular,  he  portrayed  some  of  its  cruder  features  in 
a  harsh  and  unfriendly  spirit,  which  justly  gave  offence. 
Dickens  himself  afterward  recognized  the  injustice  of  his 
attack ;  and  on  his  second  visit  to  the  United  States, 
twenty-five  years  later,  he  spoke  of  the  astonishing  strides 

2N 


546  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

our  country  had  made  in  wealth  and  culture,  and  acknowl- 
edged that  his  impressions  of  an  earlier  time  had  been 
extreme  and  unjust. 

During  the  intervals  of  "Martin  Chuzzlewit "  Dickens 
wrote  in  1843  "The  Christmas  Carol,"  a  story  that  was 
at  once  acknowledged  to  be  a  masterpiece.  The  first 
edition  of  six  thousand  copies  was  sold  on  the  day  of 
publication.  Nothing  better  of  its  kind  has  ever  been 
done.  It  exhibits  our  author's  great  gifts — his  humor, 
his  simple  pathos,  his  bright,  poetic  fancy,  and  his  sym- 
pathy with  the  down-trodden  —  at  their  best.  The  next 
best  of  his  Christmas  stories  is  "The  Cricket  on  the 
Hearth." 

For  some  reason  Dickens's  popularity  at  this  period 
seemed  to  wane.  There  was  a  large  falling  off  in  the 
sale  of  "  Martin  Chuzzlewit "  ;  and  as  he  had  been  living 
in  a  liberal  style,  he  found  himself  in  financial  difficulties, 
from  which,  to  use  his  own  words,  he  suffered  "  intolerable 
anxiety  and  disappointment."  Under  these  circumstances 
he  resolved  to  spend  some  time  on  the  Continent  with  his 
family,  where  he  could  live  more  economically ;  and  ac- 
cordingly, in  1844,  he  went  to  Genoa,  and  afterward  vis- 
ited the  other  principal  cities  of  Italy.  His  sojourn 
abroad  was  not  marked  by  great  literary  activity ;  but 
the  ringing  of  the  numerous  bells  of  Genoa  suggested  to 
him  the  Christmas  story  called  "The  Chimes."  He  re- 
turned to  London  the  following  year,  and  became  editor 
of  a  new  daily,  TJie  News,  which  has  since  had  a  vigorous 
growth.  But  the  engagement  proved  a  mistake,  and  after 
three  weeks  he  tendered  his  resignation.  But  he  still  con- 
tinued for  a  time  to  write  for  it,  and  in  its  columns  first 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  547 

appeared  his  excellent  letters  of  travel  called  "  Pictures  of 
Italy." 

Not  long  after  his  release  from  editorial  work,  he  again 
went  to  the  Continent,  this  time  establishing  himself  at 
Lausanne.  At  this  place,  in  a  villa  that  did  not  belie  its 
name  of  Rosemont,  he  began  another  great  work,  "  Dom- 
bey  and  Son."  But  the  grandeur  of  Alpine  scenery  could 
not  supply  the  inspiration  that  came  to  him  in  the  me- 
tropolis of  England.  "  The  toil  and  labor  of  writing,  day 
after  day,"  he  said,  "without  the  magic  lantern  of  the 
London  streets,  is  immense!''  After  finishing  three 
parts  of  "  Dombey  and  Son,"  he  went  to  Paris,  where 
he  spent  three  months,  living  on  terms  of  friendly  inter- 
course with  Dumas,  Hugo,  Lamartine,  and  Chateaubriand. 
"  Dombey  and  Son  "  was  completed  in  London  and 
published  in  1848.  Its  purpose  is  to  expose  the  vice 
of  pride,  and  in  its  originality  and  force  it  deserves 
to  rank  among  our  author's  best  works.  No  small  part 
of  its  beauty  and  pathos  is  due  to  the  character  of  little 
Paul. 

The  five  years  beginning  with  1847  ^^Y  ^^  reckoned 
the  happiest  and  busiest  of  Dickens's  life.  His  inimitable 
addresses  on  public  occasions  brought  him  into  closer  re- 
lations with  the  people,  while  his  "splendid  strolling"  at 
the  head  of  an  amateur  theatrical  troupe  won  him  fresh 
applause.  As  an  actor  and  manager  he  possessed  remark- 
able ability  and  was  recognized  as  the  life  of  the  whole 
company.  The  proceeds  of  the  entertainments  given  by 
the  troupe  were  devoted  to  benevolent  objects.  In  1850 
his  long-cherished  desire  to  conduct  a  successful  periodical 
was  realized  in  Household  Words.     "  We  hope,"  he  wrote, 


548  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

"to  do  some  solid  good,  and  we  mean  to  be  as  cheery  and 
pleasant  as  we  can." 

In  "David  Copperfield,"  which  was  completed  in  1850, 
Dickens  may  be  said  to  have  reached  the  culmination  of 
his  career  as  a  writer.  In  no  other  work  has  he  attained 
so  high  a  degree  of  artistic  excellence.  Its  autobiographic 
element  is  an  additional  source  of  interest.  "  Of  all  my 
books,"  Dickens  declares,  "I  like  this  the  best.  It  will 
be  easily  believed  that  I  am  a  fond  parent  to  every  child 
of  my  fancy,  and  that  no  one  can  ever  love  that  family  as 
dearly  as  I  love  them.  But  like  many  fond  parents,  I 
have  in  my  heart  of  hearts  a  favorite  child  —  and  his  name 
is  David  Copperfield." 

We  cannot  follow  Dickens  further  in  his  work  as  a 
novelist.  Other  great  works  were  to  be  produced, — 
"Bleak  House,"  "Little  Dorrit,"  "Tale  of  Two  Cities," 
"  Our  Mutual  Friend,"  and  others,  —  but  none  of  them  in- 
creased his  fame.  They  lacked,  to  a  greater  or  less  degree, 
the  abounding  humor  and  vitality  of  his  earlier  books. 
His  intense  and  protracted  labors,  together  with  domestic 
discomforts,  began  to  tell  on  his  health.  A  morbid  rest- 
lessness came  upon  him.  "  I  am  become  incapable  of 
rest,"  he  wrote  to  a  friend.  "  I  am  quite  confident  that  I 
should  rust,  break,  and  die,  if  I  spared  myself.  Much 
better  to  die,  doing."  His  roving  spirit  became  stronger 
than  ever;  and  in  1855,  speaking  of  a  contemplated  trip, 
he  humorously  described  himself  as  "  going  off,  I  don't 
know  where  or  how  far,  to  ponder  about  I  don't  know 
what."  The  closing  years  of  his  life  were  filled  with  rest- 
less activity. 

Though  he  had  previously  given  readings  for  benevolent 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  549 

objects,  Dickens  began  his  career  as  a  professional  reader 
in  1858.  His  readings  were  eminently  successful,  adding 
largely  both  to  his  fame  and  fortune.  Wherever  he  went, 
large  crowds  were  anxious  to  see  and  hear  the  distinguished 
novelist.  He  prepared  for  his  readings  with  almost  infi- 
nite care,  rehearsing  scores  of  times  and  studying  every 
intonation  and  gesture.  His  flexible  voice,  his  fine  per- 
sonal presence,  and  above  all  his  unusual  dramatic  gifts, 
made  his  entertainments  unique.  He  was  a  whole  theatre 
in  himself.  Carlyle,  who  once  went  reluctantly  to  hear 
him,  felt  constrained  to  say :  "  Dickens  does  it  capitally, 
such  as  it  is ;  acts  better  than  any  Macready  in  the  world  ; 
a  whole  tragic,  comic,  heroic  theatre  visible,  performing 
under  one  hat,  and  keeping  us  laughing  —  in  a  sorry  way, 
some  of  us  thought  —  the  whole  night."  His  readings  in 
America  during  the  winter  of  1 867-1 868  brought  him  the 
enormous  sum  of  nearly  one  hundred  thousand  dollars. 

The  last  years  of  his  life  were  marked  by  failing  strength. 
His  reading  tours  drew  heavily  upon  his  physical  energies, 
and  a  serious  railroad  accident,  in  which  he  nearly  lost  his 
life,  shattered  his  nerves.  But  he  toiled  on  with  heroic 
courage,  his  indomitable  will  triumphing  over  bodily  in- 
firmity. Among  intimate  friends  he  sometimes  exhibited 
the  boyish  gayety  of  earlier  years.  In  the  autumn  of  1869 
he  began  the  novel  of  "  Edwin  Drood,"  which  he  was  des- 
tined never  to  finish.  The  end  came  suddenly  June  9, 
1870,  in  his  home  at  Gad's  Hill.  His  body  was  quietly 
laid  to  rest  in  Westminster  Abbey,  among  those  who  by 
word  and  deed  have  done  most  to  make  England  and 
English  literature.  The  last  day  of  his  life  he  wrote : 
"  I  have  always  striven  in  my  writings  to  express  venera- 


550  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

tion  for  the  life  and  lessons  of  our  Saviour  —  because  I 
feel  it."     In  this  faith  he  lived  and  died. 

As  a  novelist,  Dickens  followed  a  large  and  diffuse 
method.  He  lacked  the  severe  self-restraint  that  belongs 
to  the  classic  spirit.  His  scenes  and  characters  are  almost 
exclusively  confined  to  the  lower  half  of  society  ;  and  when 
he  has  attempted  to  portray  a  higher  type  of  manhood 
and  womanhood,  he  has  generally  failed.  But  these  and 
other  defects  that  have  been  pointed  out  in  the  course  of 
this  sketch  are  so  heavily  counterbalanced  by  prevailing 
excellences  that  we  can  afford  to  ignore  them.  In  spite  of 
caricature,  many  of  his  characters  are  genuine  creations, 
whose  doings  and  sayings  are  quoted  with  the  tacit  assump- 
tion that  they  are  familiar  to  every  one.  Who  can  forget 
Pickwick,  or  Mr.  Micawber,  or  Bill  Sikes,  or  a  score  of 
others .-"  Dickens  is  always  pure  and  true  in  his  moral 
feeling.  He  never  confounds  vice  and  virtue,  nor  loses 
sight  of  the  great  truth  that  "  the  wages  of  sin  is  death." 
He  had  a  wide  human  sympathy,  which  discovered,  even 
in  the  lowest  outcast,  some  remaining  spark  of  goodness. 
"  This  humane  kinship  with  the  vulgar  and  the  common," 
says  Frederic  Harrison,  "this  magic  which  strikes  poetry 
out  of  the  dust  of  the  streets,  and  discovers  the  traces 
of  beauty  and  joy  in  the  most  monotonous  of  lives,  is,  in 
the  true  and  best  sense  of  the  term,  Christ-like,  with  a 
message  and  gospel  of  hope." 

We  may  venture  to  predict  that  the  future  of  Dickens 
is  secure.  He  wished  no  other  monument  than  his 
works,  and  they  are  likely  to  prove  an  enduring  one. 
With  the  changing  taste  of  each  generation,  and  with 
the  growing  intensity  of  life,  he  will  not  be  so  extensively 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  55  I 

read  in  the  future  as  in  the  past.  Perhaps  no  other  novel- 
ist, except  Scott,  has  ever  been  so  popular.  But  a  few  of 
his  works,  at  least,  will  no  doubt  continue  to  live ;  and  a 
hundred  years  from  now  people  will  laugh  over  Pickwick 
and  sympathize  with  David  Copperfield. 


552  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


GEORGE   ELIOT. 

George  Eliot  did  not  begin  to  write  novels,  upon  which 
her  fame  chiefly  depends,  till  she  had  reached  the  full  ma- 
turity of  her  intellectual  powers  and  had  garnered  a  rich 
store  of  observation  and  experience.  She  was  thirty-eight 
when  her  first  story  was  published.  Her  novels  do  not 
belong  to  what  she  calls,  in  one  of  her  review  articles,  "  the 
mind  and  millinery  species,"  which  is  described  as  "frothy, 
prosy,  pious,  or  pedantic."  Gifted  with  a  large  and  pene- 
trating mind,  she  was  a  profound  student  of  the  human 
soul ;  and  few  other  writers,  even  among  the  very  greatest, 
have  sounded  lower  depths.  She  was  deeply  impressed  by 
the  ethical  significance  of  fife,  and  everywhere  discerned 
the  same  tragedy  of  hunger  and  labor,  sin  and  suffering, 
love  and  death.  Unlike  the  silly  novelists  whom  she 
criticised  in  the  article  referred  to,  she  chose  to  portray 
ordinary  life  in  its  deeper  thought  and  feeling ;  and  her 
method,  to  express  it  in  a  single  phrase,  is  that  of  psycho- 
logic realism. 

Mary  Ann  Evans  (for  George  Eliot  was  but  her  iiom 
de  phime)  was  born  in  Warwickshire,  Nov.  22,  18 19. 
Her  mother  was  an  earnest-minded  woman,  solicitous 
for  the  moral  and  religious  welfare  of  her  children,  and 
endowed  with  a  notable  readiness  and  sharpness  of  tongue. 
Her  father,  a  farmer  and  surveyor,  was  a  man  of  sound 
judgment  and  wide  reputation  for  integrity  of  character. 


C  (KnqjL^ 


jT 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  553 

"  He  raised  himself  from  being  an  artisan,"  says  his 
daughter,  "  to  be  a  man  whose  extensive  knowledge  in 
very  varied  practical  departments  made  his  services  valued 
through  several  counties."  The  local  scenery  familiar  to 
her  in  childhood  she  has  accurately  depicted  in  "  Scenes 
from  Clerical  Life  "  and  in  "  The  Mill  on  the  Floss." 

In  her  earliest  school  days  she  cared  but  little  for  books. 
She  and  her  brother  Isaac,  who  furnish  the  prototypes  of 
Maggie  and  Tom  Tulliver  in  "  The  Mill  on  the  Floss," 
were  always  together.  But  after  her  tenth  or  twelfth 
year,  she  became  fond  of  her  studies  and  developed  an 
unusual  capacity  for  acquiring  knowledge.  She  became  a 
great  reader  and  eagerly  devoured  Scott,  Lamb,  and  De- 
foe. In  a  letter  written  in  1838,  she  speaks  of  a  serious 
fault  into  which  her  thirst  for  knowledge  had  betrayed 
her :  "  I  am  generally  in  the  same  predicament  with  books 
as  a  glutton  with  his  feast,  hurrying  through  one  course 
that  I  may  be  in  time  for  the  next,  and  so  not  relishing  or 
digesting  either." 

At  Coventry  she  spent  three  years  in  a  school  that  was 
pervaded  by  a  deeply  religious  atmosphere.  This  influ- 
ence, together  with  the  religious  training  of  her  home, 
left  a  deep  impression  on  her  character.  She  devoted 
much  time  to  works  of  charity,  visiting  the  poor  and  pro- 
viding for  their  needs.  After  the  death  of  her  mother,  in 
1836,  the  care  of  her  father's  house  fell  upon  her.  She 
became  an  adept  in  butter-making,  stood  "  sentinel  over 
damson  cheese  and  a  warm  stove,"  and  disciplined  her  fin- 
gers to  the  skilful  use  of  the  needle. 

But  with  all  her  charitable  and  domestic  duties,  she  still 
found  time  for  reading  and  study.     She  familiarized  her- 


554 


ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


self  with  no   fewer   than    six   languages,    namely,    Latin, 
Greek,  Hebrew,  French,  Italian,  and  German.     Her  read- 
ing covered  a  wide  field.     In  a  letter  written  in   1839  she 
says :   "  My   mind    presents   an   assemblage  of   disjointed 
specimens  of  history,  ancient  and  modern,  scraps  of  poetry 
picked  up  from  Shakespeare,  Cowper,  Wordsworth,  and 
Milton ;   newspaper  topics  ;    morsels  of  Addison  and  Ba- 
con, Latin  verbs,  geometry,  entomology,  and  chemistry ; 
reviews  and  metaphysics,   all  arrested  and  petrified  and 
smothered  by  the  fast-thickening  anxiety  of  actual  events 
and  household  cares  and  vexations."     With  untiring  dili- 
gence   she    laid  a   broad    foundation    for    her   subsequent 
work. 

From  letters  written  at  this  period  of  her  life,  we  get  a 
clear  insight  into  the  peculiar  temperament  and  charac- 
ter of  George  Eliot.  She  was  distrustful  of  self,  felt  a 
continual  need  of  sympathy,  and  longed  to  be  helpful  to 
others.  "  In  her  moral  development,"  says  her  husband 
and  biographer  Cross,  "she  showed,  from  the  earliest 
years  the  trait  that  was  most  marked  in  her  through  hfe, 
namely,  the  absolute  need  of  some  one  person  who  should 
be  all  in  all  to  her,  and  to  whom  she  should  be  all  in  all. 
Very  jealous  in  her  affections,  and  easily  moved  to  smiles 
or  tears,  she  was  of  a  nature  capable  of  the  keenest  enjoy- 
ment and  the  keenest  suffering ;  '  knowing  all  the  wealth 
and  all  the  woe '  of  a  preeminently  exclusive  disposition. 
She  was  affectionate,  proud,  and  sensitive  in  the  highest 
degree." 

In  1 841  George  Eliot's  father  moved  to  Foleshill,  on 
the  outskirts  of  Coventry.  This  turned  out  an  event  of 
great  importance  in  her  life.     Here  she  made  the  acquain- 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  555 

tance  of  the  Brays,  whose  house  was  a  centre  for  the  radi- 
cal literary  and  religious  thought  of  that  region.  Emerson, 
Froude,  and  other  men  of  mark  were  guests  from  time  to 
time.  In  this  atmosphere  of  free-thinking  and  scepticism 
George  Eliot  abandoned  the  religious  beliefs  of  her  earlier 
years  and,  with  something  of  a  proselyte's  zeal,  attacked 
the  current  theology  and  its  representatives.  For  a  time 
her  religious  convictions  remained  unfixed ;  she  passed 
from  rationalism  to  pantheism,  and  finally  settled  down 
into  a  religion  of  toleration  and  humanity.  She  rejected 
all  supernaturalistic  belief  and  maintained  that  the  su- 
preme duty  of  life  is  to  do  good  to  our  fellow-men. 

In  1873,  when  on  a  visit  to  Cambridge,  she  gave  full  ex- 
pression to  the  beliefs  of  her  later  years.  "  I  remember," 
says  Mr.  Frederick  Myers  in  a  passage  of  great  beauty, 
"  how,  at  Cambridge,  I  walked  with  her  once  in  the  Fel- 
lows' Garden  of  Trinity  on  an  evening  of  rainy  May ;  and 
she,  stirred  somewhat  beyond  her  wont,  and  taking  as  her 
text  the  three  words  which  have  been  used  so  often  as  the 
inspiring  trumpet-call  of  men,  —  the  words  God,  Immor- 
tality, Duty,  —  pronounced  with  terrible  earnestness  how 
inconceivable  was  the  first,  how  unbelievable  the  second, 
and  yet  how  peremptory  and  absolute  the  third.  Never, 
perhaps,  have  sterner  accents  affirmed  the  sovereignty  of 
impersonal  and  unrecompensing  Law.  I  listened,  and 
night  fell,  her  grave,  majestic  countenance  turned  toward 
me  like  a  sibyl's  in  the  gloom  ;  it  was  as  though  she  with- 
drew from  my  grasp,  one  by  one,  the  two  scrolls  of  prom- 
ise, and  left  me  the  third  scroll  only,  awful  with  inevitable 
fates.  And  when  we  stood  at  length  and  parted,  amid 
that  columnar  circuit  of  the  forest  trees,  beneath  the  last 


556  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

twilight  of  starless  skies,  I  seemed  to  be  gazing,  like  Titus 
at  Jerusalem,  on  vacant  seats  and  empty  halls  —  on  a 
sanctuary  with  no  Presence  to  hallow  it,  and  heaven  left 
lonely  of  a  God." 

At  an  early  age  George  Eliot  showed  an  inclination  for 
writing.  In  1840  a  poem  of  hers  was  published,  and  soon 
afterward  she  engaged  in  preparing  a  chart  of  ecclesiastical 
history.  But  her  first  important  literary  work  was  a  trans- 
lation of  Strauss's  "  Leben  Jesu,"  the  purpose  of  which 
was  to  eliminate  the  miraculous  element  of  the  Gospel 
narrative.  It  required  more  than  two  years  to  complete 
the  task,  which  at  length  grew  irksome  by  reason  of  her 
serious  disagreement  at  times  with  the  German  theologian. 
She  received  but  little  money  for  her  labor,  but  the  work 
of  translation  was  helpful  in  disciplining  her  faculties  into 
scholarly  accuracy  of  thought  and  expression. 

In  1849  her  father  died.  She  felt  his  loss  most  keenly, 
and  a  week  after  the  funeral  sought  relief  in  a  trip  to 
the  Continent.  She  visited  France  and  Italy  and  then 
took  up  her  abode  in  Geneva.  She  lodged  in  the  house 
of  Albert  Durade,  a  humpbacked  artist  of  great  refine- 
ment, who  probably  suggested  PhiHp  Wakem  in  "  The  Mill 
on  the  Floss."  His  portrait  of  George  Eliot  is  the  most 
pleasing  likeness  of  her  that  we  possess.  Her  health  was 
not  good,  but  she  continued  her  indefatigable  reading  and 
study.  "I  take  walks,"  she  wrote,  "play  on  the  piano, 
read  Voltaire,  talk  to  my  friends,  and  just  take  a  dose  of 
mathematics  every  day  to  prevent  my  brain  from  becom- 
ing quite  soft."  Her  sojourn  at  Geneva  marks  a  turning- 
point  in  her  life ;  for  henceforth  we  find  greater  fixity  of 
purpose  and  deeper  consciousness  of  power. 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  557 

/ 

After  an  absence  of  eight  months,  she  returned  to  Eng- 
land and  shortly  afterward  became  associate  editor  of 
the  Westminster  Review.  The  choice  and  arrangement 
of  articles  fell  chiefly  upon  her.  She  complained  of  the 
heavy  burden  of  her  editorial  work,  which  left  her  but 
little  time  for  writing.  She  prepared  only  a  few  articles, 
—  "  Worldliness  and  Other-Worldliness,"  "  German  Wit," 
"  Evangelical  Teaching,"  and  others,  —  which  exhibit  much 
learning  and  force ;  but  there  is  sometimes  a  lack  of  judi- 
cial calmness  and  tolerant  amiability.  She  had  not  yet 
learned  the  broad  sympathy  and  large  tolerance  that 
belonged  to  her  later  life. 

Her  connection  with  the  Westminster  Revieiv  brought 
her  into  contact  with  some  of  the  ablest  advanced  thinkers 
of  her  time.  Among  her  friends  she  numbered  Carlyle, 
Harriet  Martineau,  Lewes,  Herbert  Spencer,  and  others. 
Herbert  Spencer,  with  whom  her  relations  were  very  cor- 
dial, was  the  first  to  discover  her  genius  for  fiction.  A  still 
deeper  attachment  sprang  up  between  her  and  George  H. 
Lewes,  a  man  of  bright  and  genial  nature,  whose  wife  had 
abandoned  him.  When  he  found  it  impossible  to  secure 
a  divorce,  George  Eliot  entered  into  a  conjugal  relation 
with  him  without  the  usual  sanction  of  church  and  state. 
This  bold  and  irregular  step  cost  her  the  respect  and  con- 
fidence of  many  friends.  But  leaving  aside  its  unfortu- 
nate irregularity,  the  union  turned  out  singularly  helpful 
and  happy ;  and  in  the  confidence  and  encouragement  of 
her  husband  George  Eliot  found  a  much  needed  stimulus 
in  her  work. 

Immediately  after  their  union,  in  1854,  the  venturesome 
pair  went  to  Germany,  where  they  spent  eight  months  at 


558  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Weimar  and  Berlin  in  congenial  studies.  After  returning 
to  England  George  Eliot  continued  her  review  writing. 
In  an  article  entitled  "The  Natural  History  of  German 
Life,"  she  laid  down  the  reaUstic  principle  that  was  after- 
ward to  govern  her  own  artistic  productions.  "  Art  is 
the  nearest  thing  to  life ;  it  is  a  mode  of  amplifying  ex- 
perience and  extending  our  contact  with  our  fellow-men 
beyond  the  bounds  of  our  personal  lot.  All  the  more 
sacred  is  the  task  of  the  artist  when  he  undertakes  to 
paint  the  life  of  the  people.  Falsification  here  is  far  more 
pernicious  than  in  the  more  artificial  aspects  of  life.  It 
is  not  so  very  serious  that  we  should  have  false  ideas 
about  evanescent  fashions,  about  the  manners  and  con- 
versation of  beaux  and  duchesses;  but  it  is  serious  that 
our  sympathy  with  the  perennial  joys  and  struggles,  the 
toil,  the  tragedy,  and  the  humor  in  the  life  of  our  more 
heavily  laden  fellow-men  should  be  perverted  and  turned 
toward  a  false  object  instead  of  the  true  one." 

The  time  had  now  come  for  her  to  enter  upon  a  wider 
literary  career  and  to  exemplify  her  profound  conceptions 
of  the  novelist's  art.  For  years  she  had  cherished  the 
purpose  of  trying  her  hand  at  fiction.  She  was  encour- 
aged by  Lewes  to  begin,  though  he  was  not  entirely  con- 
fident of  her  success.  "  You  have  wit,  description,  and 
philosophy,"  he  used  to  say  to  her,  "and  these  go  a  good 
way  toward  the  production  of  a  novel.  It  is  worth  while 
for  you  to  try  the  experiment."  In  the  fall  of  1856  she 
wrote  "Amos  Barton,"  the  first  story  in  "  Scenes  of  Cleri- 
cal Life."  The  scenery,  incidents,  and  characters  were 
taken  from  her  childhood  recollections.  The  story  was 
sent  to  Blackwood,  who  enclosed  a  check  for  fifty  guineas. 


GEORGE   ELIOT.  559 

"It  is  a  long  time,"  he  wrote,  "  since  I  have  read  anything 
so  fresh,  so  humorous,  and  so  touching."  Very  sensitive 
to  praise  or  blame,  George  Eliot  felt  encouraged  by  the 
success  of  her  first  venture,  and  soon  added  to  the  same 
series  "Mr.  Gilfil's  Love  Story  "  and  "Janet's  Repentance." 

In  "  Scenes  from  Clerical  Life  "  we  discover  the  distin- 
guishing features  of  George  Eliot's  work.  Lacking  in 
dramatic  power,  she  aimed  at  a  truthful  portrayal  of 
character  rather  than  an  exciting  train  of  incident.  She 
is  a  novelist  of  the  soul,  as  Dickens  is  of  manners.  The 
prevailing  tone  of  her  work  is  one  of  sadness.  Weakness, 
error,  and  sin  are  allowed,  as  in  actual  life,  to  bring  forth 
failure  and  suffering.  The  background  of  her  own  nature 
was  shrouded  in  gloom.  Though  her  sceptical  opinions 
are  carefully  repressed,  they  cast  a  shadow  over  her  work  ; 
and  with  one  or  two  exceptions  we  are  apt  to  rise  from  a 
perusal  of  any  of  her  books,  with  a  feeling  of  depression. 

She  was  content  to  reveal  the  tragic  joys  and  sorrows 
hid  beneath  the  surface  of  everyday  life.  "  These  com- 
monplace people,"  she  said  in  defence  of  her  chosen  char- 
acters, "  many  of  them,  bear  a  conscience,  and  have  felt 
the  sublime  prompting  to  do  the  painful  right ;  they  have 
their  unspoken  sorrows  and  their  sacred  joys ;  their  hearts 
have  perhaps  gone  out  toward  their  first-born,  and  they 
have  mourned  over  the  irreclaimable  dead.  Nay,  is  there 
not  a  pathos  in  their  very  insignificance  — in  our  compari- 
son of  their  dim  and  narrow  existence  with  the  glorious 
possibilities  of  that  human  nature  which  they  share  .-' " 

In  writing  fiction  George  Eliot  had  at  last  found  her 
vocation,  and  in  this  fact  she  experienced  a  satisfaction 
unknown    before.       Her   domestic   life    was    happy,    and 


560  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

henceforth  her  career  is  one  of  stately  grandeur.  Her 
new-found  contentment  is  reflected  in  her  letters,  and  the 
last  night  of  1857  she  wrote  in  her  journal:  "  My  life  has 
deepened  unspeakably  during  the  last  year ;  I  feel  a 
greater  capacity  for  moral  and  intellectual  enjoyment,  a 
more  acute  sense  of  my  deficiencies  in  the  past,  a  more 
solemn  desire  to  be  faithful  to  coming  duties,  than  I  re- 
member at  any  former  period  of  my  life." 

Scarcely  were  the  "  Scenes  from  Clerical  Life  "  finished, 
when  George  Eliot  nerved  herself  for  a  stronger  flight. 
She  set  to  work  on  "Adam  Bede  "  late  in  1857,  continued 
it  during  a  pleasant  sojourn  of  some  months  in  Germany, 
and  completed  it  in  England  in  November,  1858.  It  was 
published  the  following  year,  and  rarely  has  any  book 
created  so  great  a  sensation  in  the  literary  world.  Charles 
Reade  pronounced  it  "  the  finest  thing  since  Shake- 
speare "  ;  Charles  Buxton  quoted  it  in  Parliament ;  Her- 
bert Spencer  said  that  he  felt  the  better  for  reading  it. 
No  fewer  than  eighteen  thousand  copies  were  sold  the  first 
year,  and  George  Eliot  suddenly  found  herself  in  the  fore- 
front of  English  novelists. 

Though  not,  perhaps,  the  greatest  of  her  novels,  yet 
"Adam  Bede"  has  remained  the  most  popular.  Like 
"  Scenes  from  Clerical  Life,"  the  book  was  based  on  the 
experiences  of  her  early  life.  She  wrote  it  with  more  ease 
and  pleasure  than  any  of  her  other  works.  Usually  her 
books  cost  her  great  travail  of  soul.  "  My  books  are  deeply 
serious  things  to  me,"  she  wrote  shortly  after  the  appear- 
ance of  "  Adam  Bede,"  "  and  come  out  of  all  the  painful 
discipline,  all  the  most  hardly  learned  lessons,  of  my  past 
life."     The  sad  story  of  Hetty  was  a  true  one,  which  she 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  56 1 

had  heard  from  her  aunt  in  youth.  The  manly  Adam  was 
an  ideahzation  of  her  father,  while  her  mother  furnished 
some  of  the  traits  of  the  inimitable  Mrs.  Poyser.  The 
saintly  Dinah  was  a  portrait  of  her  aunt,  who  in  her  earlier 
womanhood  had  been  a  vehement  preacher  or  exhorter. 

Her  next  book,  completed  and  published  in  i860,  was 
"The  Mill  on  the  Floss."  It  contains  a  larger  autobio- 
graphic element  than  any  of  her  other  works.  It  was 
written  under  more  than  usual  depression  of  spirit.  "  I 
am  assured,"  she  wrote  to  Blackwood,  "  that  'Adam  Bede' 
was  worth  writing  —  worth  living  through  long  years  to 
write.  But  now  it  seems  impossible  to  me  that  I  shall 
ever  write  anything  so  good  and  true  again.  I  have 
arrived  at  faith  in  the  past,  but  not  at  faith  in  the  future." 
The  result  did  not  justify  her  misgivings.  Though  inferior 
to  "Adam  Bede,"  "The  Mill  on  the  Floss"  is  still  a  piece 
of  deep,  strong  work. 

In  i860,  after  the  publication  of  "The  Mill  on  the 
Floss,"  George  Eliot  spent  several  months  in  Italy.  She 
visited  the  principal  cities  and  studied  their  works  of  art. 
She  was  especially  interested  in  Florence,  which  suggested 
to  her  an  undertaking  in  a  new  field.  "  When  we  were  in 
Florence,"  to  use  her  own  words,  "  I  was  rather  fired  with 
the  idea  of  writing  a  historical  romance  —  scene,  Florence  ; 
period,  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century,  which  was 
marked  by  Savonarola's  career  and  martyrdom.  Mr.  Lewes 
has  encouraged  me  to  persevere  in  the  project,  saying  that 
I  should  probably  do  something"  in  historical  romance  rather 
different  in  character  from  what  had  been  done  before." 

But  before  this  idea  was  carried  out,  another  English 

story  intervened.     This  was  "  Silas  Marner,"  the  most  ar- 
2  o 


562  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

tistic,  perhaps,  of  all  our  author's  works.  Not  so  lengthy 
as  her  other  novels,  it  is  more  rapid  in  movement  and 
symmetrical  in  form.  For  the  first  time  in  her  writings, 
imagination  takes  the  place  of  reminiscence.  Though 
serious,  as  are  all  her  books,  it  is  less  depressing  than  most 
of  ,them.  It  is  lighted  up  with  many  a  touch  of  humor, 
and  ends  with  wedding  bells.  The  transformation  in  Silas 
Marner's  character,  through  his  love  for  the  little  waif  that 
had  stolen  into  his  cottage,  is  something  that  is  beautiful 
in  itself  and  full  of  promise  for  humanity. 

With  "Silas  Marner"  off  hands,  George  Eliot  at  once 
set  about  her  historical  novel.  With  a  genuine  artist 
spirit  she  gave  herself  to  conscientious  preparation  for  it. 
"I  will  never  write  anything,"  she  said,  "to  which  my 
whole  heart,  mind,  and  conscience  don't  consent,  so  that 
I  may  feel  that  it  was  something  —  however  small — which 
wanted  to  be  done  in  this  world,  and  that  I  am  just  the 
organ  for  that  little  bit  of  work."  For  the  sake  of  local 
coloring,  she  again  spent  some  weeks  in  Florence ;  and 
for  the  sake  of  historical  truth  she  carried  on  a  compre- 
hensive course  of  reading.  Two  hundred  volumes,  it  has 
been  said,  contributed  of  their  treasures  to  "  Romola." 
The  book  drew  heavily  on  the  author's  vital  energies. 
"  I  began  it  a  young  woman,"  she  said ;  "  I  finished  it 
an  old  woman."  After  nearly  two  years  of  self-distrusting 
labor,  it  was  completed  in  1863;  and  the  first  right  of 
publication  was  sold  to  the  Cornhill  Magazine  for  seven 
thousand  pounds. 

"  Romola "  is  one  of  the  greatest  of  historical  novels. 
It  reproduces  with  wonderful  power  the  stirring  scenes 
and  interests  of  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century.     The 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  565 

newly  awakened  ardor  for  classical  learning  is  strongly 
shown  in  the  blind  old  Bardo.  Romola  is  no  less  noble 
in  soul  than  beautiful  in  person  ;  and  the  ideals  she  cher- 
ished may  be  regarded  as  those  of  George  Eliot  herself. 
Listen,  as  she  speaks  to  her  son  Lillo,  who  has  just  re- 
vealed his  desire  for  fame  and  happiness :  "  It  is  only  a 
poor  sort  of  happiness  that  could  ever  come  by  caring 
very  much  about  our  own  narrow  pleasures.  We  can 
only  have  the  highest  happiness,  such  as  goes  along  with 
being  a  great  man,  by  having  wide  thoughts  and  much 
feeling  for  the  rest  of  the  world  as  well  as  ourselves ;  and 
this  sort  of  happiness  often  brings  so  much  pain  with  it 
that  we  can  only  tell  it  from  pain  by  its  being  what  we 
would  choose  before  everything  else,  because  our  souls 
see  it  is  good.  There  are  so  many  things  wrong  and  dif- 
ficult in  the  world  that  no  man  can  be  great  —  he  can 
hardly  keep  himself  from  wickedness  —  unless  he  gives 
up  thinking  much  about  pleasure  or  rewards,  and  gets 
strength  to  endure  what  is  hard  and  painful." 

After  the  completion  of  "  Romola,"  George  Eliot  rested 
more  than  a  year.  She  was  now  living  in  a  commodious 
and  attractive  home ;  and  much  sought  after  by  friends 
and  by  persons  attracted  by  her  reputation,  she  gave 
more  time  to  social  duties  and  enjoyments.  Her  weekly 
receptions  were  attended  by  many  distinguished  men  and 
women.  Gossip  and  scandal  had  no  place  in  these  gath- 
erings. "  She  always  gave  us  of  her  best,"  says  Oscar 
Browning,  who  knew  her  well.  "  Her  conversation  was 
deeply  sympathetic,  but  grave  and  solemn,  illumined  by 
happy  phrases  and  by  thrilling  tenderness,  but  not  by 
humor.     Although  her  features  were  heavy  and  not  well 


564  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

proportioned,  all  was  forgotten  when  that  majestic  head 
bent  slowly  down,  and  the  eyes  were  lit  up  with  a  pene- 
trating and  lively  gaze.  She  appeared  much  greater  than 
her  books.  Her  ability  seemed  to  shrink  beside  her  moral 
grandeur." 

After  pubhshing  "  Felix  Holt,"  one  of  her  least  success- 
ful novels,  she  gave  herself  earnestly  to  the  completion  of 
a  poem,  "The  Spanish  Gypsy,"  which  she  had  begun  a 
year  or  two  previously.  Among  several  trips  to  the  Con- 
tinent during  this  period,  she  visited  Spain,  where  the 
scene  of  her  poem  was  laid.  With  her  usual  conscien- 
tiousness, she  made  extensive  studies  in  Spanish  history 
and  Spanish  literature.  The  subject  of  the  poem  was  a 
noble  conception,  presenting  the  tragic  conflict  between 
individual  and  tribal  claims.  But  the  truth  must  be  told : 
in  spite  of  her  elevated  thought,  keen  insight,  and  often 
eloquent  utterance,  George  Eliot  was  not  a  poet.  Though 
"  The  Spanish  Gypsy  "  was  received  with  favor  on  its  pub- 
lication in  1868,  helped  no  doubt  by  the  author's  great 
reputation  as  a  novelist,  it  is  rather  tedious  reading  now. 

Of  her  other  poems,  though  a  fine  passage  is  to  be  met 
with  here  and  there,  it  is  not  necessary  to  speak.  The 
best  of  them,  really  a  little  gem,  is  as  follows  :  — 

"  Sweet  evenings  come  and  go,  love, 
They  came  and  went  of  yore  ; 
This  evening  of  our  Hfe,  love. 
Shall  go  and  come  no  more. 


&"■ 


"When  we  have  passed  away,  love, 
All  things  will  keep  their  name  ; 
But  yet  no  life  on  earth,  love, 
With  ours  will  be  the  same. 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  565 

"The  daisies  will  be  there,  love, 
The  stars  in  heaven  will  shine ; 
I  shall  not  feel  thy  wish,  love, 
Nor  thou  my  hand  in  thine. 

"A  better  time  will  come,  love, 
And  better  souls  be  born  ; 
I  would  not  be  the  best,  love. 
To  leave  thee  now  forlorn." 

But  little  space  is  left  for  the  remaining  works  of  our 
author.  "  Middlemarch  "  was  published  in  1872  and 
"Daniel  Deronda  "  in  1876.  The  rank  these  works  hold 
among  her  writings  is  a  disputed  point ;  but  the  fact  seems 
to  be  that,  with  less  of  popular  interest,  they  exhibit  greater 
depth  and  breadth  of  thought.  There  are  not  a  few  who 
regard  "  Middlemarch  "  as  the  greatest  of  her  works.  In 
"Daniel  Deronda"  she  shows  her  sympathy  with  the 
Jews,  to  whom,  she  maintained,  the  Western  people,  who 
have  adopted  Christianity,  owe  a  peculiar  debt.  But  how- 
ever great  these  books  may  be,  their  depth  and  seriousness 
will  prevent  them  from  being  general  favorites. 

In  1878  her  husband  Lewes  died.  Notwithstanding 
her  great  grief,  she  at  once  set  about  editing  his  works ; 
and  to  perpetuate  his  memory,  she  established  a  scholar- 
ship, open  to  students  of  either  sex,  for  original  investiga- 
tion in  physiology.  This  shows  her  attitude  toward  the 
higher  education  of  women.  She  wished  them  to  be  edu- 
cated equally  with  men,  seeing  in  this  higher  culture  a 
better  preparation  for  the  duties  of  life.  "  It  was  often  in 
her  mind  and  on  her  heart,"  says  Cross,  her  best  biog- 
rapher, "  that  the  only  worthy  end  of  all  learning,  of  all 
science,  of  all  life,  in  fact,  is,  that  human  beings  should 


566  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

love  one  another  better.  Culture,  merely  for  culture's 
sake,  can  never  be  anything  but  a  sapless  root,  capable 
of  producing  at  best  a  shrivelled  branch." 

Her  second  marriage  in  1880  to  Mr.  John  Cross,  a  man 
twenty  years  her  junior,  naturally  provoked  a  good  deal  of 
criticism.  It  was  a  severe  shock  to  those  who  were  dis- 
posed to  idolize  her.  But  she  did  not  long  survive  to 
lament  the  alienation  of  friends,  or  to  enjoy  what  she 
called  a  "  renewed  interest  "  in  life.  On  the  22  of  Decem- 
ber, 1880,  seven  months  after  her  marriage,  she  quietly 
passed  away,  leaving  a  vacancy  in  the  world  of  letters  that 
has  not  since  been  filled. 

Though  destitute  of  many  feminine  graces,  George  Eliot 
was  a  woman  of  extraordinary  intellectual  power.  Her 
literary  gifts  reach  the  high  plane  of  genius.  Her  writ- 
ings were  the  product,  not  merely  of  studious  preparation 
and  tremendous  toil,  but  also  of  that  deeper  self,  which 
lies  beyond  all  scrutiny  and  understanding.  In  her  best 
work  she  was  guided  by  a  spontaneous  and  controlling  im- 
pulse, which  lay  beyond  the  reach  of  her  will.  "  She  told 
me,"  says  Cross,  "that  in  all  that  she  considered  her  best 
writing,  there  was  a  '  not  herself '  which  took  possession  of 
her,  and  that  she  felt  her  own  personality  to  be  merely 
the  instrument  through  which  this  spirit,  as  it  were,  was 
acting."  To  a  greater  or  less  degree,  this  is  true  of  all 
real  genius. 

In  her  life  she  made  grave  mistakes,  and  suffered  much ; 
but  in  all  her  trials  of  body  and  soul,  she  never  lost  her  no- 
bility of  purpose  nor  her  sympathy  with  burdened,  strug- 
gling humanity.  The  deep  purpose  of  her  life  she  has 
beautifully  expressed  in  one  of  her  poems :  — 


GEORGE  ELIOT.  567 

"  May  I  be  to  other  souls 
The  cup  of  strength  in  some  great  agony, 
Enkindle  generous  ardor,  feed  pure  love, 
Beget  the  smiles  that  have  no  cruelty  — 
Be  the  sweet  presence  of  a  good  diffused. 
And  in  diffusion  ever  more  intense. 
So  shall  I  join  the  choir  invisible 
Whose  music  is  the  gladness  of  the  world." 


568  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING. 

The  present  century  has  produced  many  female  writers 
of  high  excellence.  They  are  represented  in  almost  all 
departments  of  literature,  but  notably  in  poetry  and  fiction. 
This  result  has  been  brought  about  by  the  larger  culture 
which  is  now  open  to  women.  They  have  risen  to  the 
demands  of  a  larger  sphere  of  thought  and  action.  Among 
our  great  female  writers,  Mrs.  Browning  occupies  a  fore- 
most place.  She  is  beyond  question  the  greatest  poetess 
of  England,  and,  as  many  believe,  of  the  world.  What 
other  poetess  deserves  a  place  beside  her .-'  In  genuine- 
ness of  inspiration  and  in  vigor  of  thought,  she  stands 
above  all  her  sister  singers. 

Her  life,  as  we  shall  see,  was  not  without  great  trials. 
Most  persons  would  have  been  crushed  by  them.  But,  as 
part  of  her  endowment  of  genius,  she  had  an  indomitable 
energy ;  and,  as  often  happens,  her  sufferings  but  deep- 
ened and  ennobled  her  character.  She  experienced  and 
believed,  what  another  poet  has  said  :  — 

"  These  severe  afiflictions 
Not  from  the  ground  arise, 
But  oftentimes  celestial  benedictions 
Assume  this  dark  disguise." 

Suffering  gave  depth  of  insight  and  emotion  to  her 
song.  But  better  than  her  poetry,  with  all  its  excellence, 
was  the  brave,  pure,  noble  womanhood  that  stood  behind  it. 

Elizabeth   Barrett  was  born  in  the  county  of  Durham, 


Photograph  after  the  painting  by  Field  Telfourd. 


y^f<i^/^^<zy2^/t^(^ 


7c^ic/y?/ 


>?f<nj^ 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING.  569 

March  6,  1806.  Her  ancestors  lived  for  a  long  time  in 
the  island  of  Jamaica,  from  which  her  father  was  taken  to 
England  in  his  childhood.  When  she  was  two  or  three 
years  old,  the  family  removed  from  the  north  of  England 
to  Herefordshire,  where  she  grew  to  womanhood.  In  one 
of  her  letters,  written  in  1843,  she  has  given  us  a  jDicture 
of  these  years,  which  were  filled  with  the  English  poets, 
Latin  and  Greek  classics,  and  ambitious  efforts  at  verse. 
"  Most  of  my  events,"  she  says,  "  and  nearly  all  my  in- 
tense pleasures  have  passed  in  my  thoughts.  I  wrote 
verses  —  as  I  dare  say  many  have  done  who  never  wrote 
any  poems  —  very  early ;  at  eight  years  old  and  earlier. 
But,  what  is  less  common,  the  early  fancy  turned  into  a 
will,  and  remained  with  me,  and  from  that  day  to  this 
poetry  has  been  a  distinct  object  with  me  —  an  object  to 
read,  think,  and  live  for.  And  I  could  make  you  laugh, 
although  you  could  not  make  the  public  laugh,  by  the  nar- 
rative of  nascent  odes,  epics,  and  didactics  crying  aloud 
on  obsolete  muses  from  childish  lips." 

Besides  Byron  and  Coleridge,  she  delighted  in  Pope's 
"  Homer,"  which  at  the  age  of  eleven  or  twelve  inspired 
an  epic  of  four  books  entitled  "The  Battle  of  Marathon." 
Proud  of  his  daughter's  precocity,  Mr.  Barrett,  who  at  this 
time  possessed  considerable  wealth,  had  fifty  copies  of 
this  epic  printed  for  private  circulation.  At  seventeen 
or  eighteen  she  wrote  a  didactic  poem  called  an  "  Essay 
on  Mind."  "The  poem  is  imitative  in  form,"  she  wrote  in 
after  years,  "  yet  is  not  without  traces  of  an  individual 
thinking  and  feehng  —  the  bird  picks  through  the  shell  in 
it."  Recalling  the  omnivorous  reading  of  those  days,  she 
wrote  in  "  Aurora  Leigh  "  many  years  afterward  :  — 


570 


ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


"  We  get  no  good 
By  being  ungenerous,  even  to  a  book, 
And  calculating  profits  —  so  much  help 
By  so  much  reading.     It  is  rather  when 
We  gloriously  forget  ourselves,  and  plunge 
Soul-forward,  headlong,  into  a  book's  profound, 
Impassioned  for  its  beauty  and  salt  of  truth,  — 
'Tis  then  we  get  the  right  good  from  a  book." 

Her  thirst  for  Greek  literature  was  first  awakened  by 
Pope's  translations.  After  acquiring  the  elements  of  the 
language,  she  pursued  a  wide  course  of  reading  under  the 
judicious  guidance  of  Hugh  Stuart  Boyd,  an  eminent 
scholar  who  had  lost  his  sight.  She  read  to  him  the 
principal  Attic  poets,  and  also  the  — 

"  Noble  Christian  bishops 
Who  mouthed  grandly  the  last  Greek." 

In  "  Wine  of  Cyprus  "  she  has  preserved  a  beautiful  pic- 
ture of  those  youthful  studies  :  — 

"  And  I  think  of  those  long  mornings 

Which  my  thought  goes  far  to  seek, 
When,  betwixt  the  folio's  turnings, 

Solemn  flowed  the  rhythmic  Greek  : 
Past  the  pane  the  mountain  spreading. 

Swept  the  sheep-bell's  tinkling  noise, 
While  a  girlish  voice  was  reading. 

Somewhat  low  for  af?,  and  ^/'s." 

In  1832  Mr.  Barrett  again  moved  his  family,  this  time  to 
Sidmouth,  in  Devonshire.  The  house  was  comfortable 
and  cheerful,  commanding  a  view  of  the  sea  in  front. 
Miss  Barrett  had  now  reached  maturity  in  character  and 
culture.     None  of  her  predecessors  had  laid  so  broad  a 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING.  571 

foundation  for  genius  to  build  upon.  Her  new  home,  with 
its  agreeable  surroundings,  proved  favorable  to  literary- 
effort.  Before  the  year  had  elapsed,  she  made  a  transla- 
tion of  "  Prometheus  Bound,"  which  was  published  soon 
afterward  with  a  few  original  pieces.  The  translation, 
which  had  been  prepared  in  twelve  days,  was  not  a  suc- 
cess. The  translator  herself  said  years  afterward  that  "  it 
should  have  been  thrown  into  the  fire  —  the  only  means 
of  giving  it  a  little  warmth."  In  1845  it  was  replaced  by 
the  present  admirable  translation  found  in  Mrs.  Brown- 
ing's works. 

The  family  residence  at  Sidmouth  did  not  prove  a  per- 
manent one.  In  1835  Mr.  Barrett  took  his  family  to  Lon- 
don. For  the  ambitious  poetess  this  was  an  important 
change.  It  brought  new  friends  and  larger  opportunities. 
Unfortunately  her  health,  which  had  suffered  from  an 
accident  years  before,  gave  way  in  the  London  atmos- 
phere, and  her  prolonged  invalid  life  had  its  beginning. 
But  her  energy  could  not  be  quenched.  In  her  invalid 
seclusion,  as  one  of  her  friends  testified,  she  read  "  almost 
every  book  worth  reading  in  almost  every  language,  and 
gave  herself,  heart  and  soul,  to  that  poetry  of  which  she 
seemed  born  to  be  the  priestess."  Cut  off  in  large  meas- 
ure from  social  enjoyments,  she  began  the  voluminous 
correspondence  which  gives  her  an  honorable  place  among 
English  letter-writers. 

She  now  entered  upon  a  larger  literary  career  by  pub- 
lishing in  the  New  Monthly,  then  edited  by  Bulwer,  the 
beautiful  but  sad  "  Romaunt  of  Margret."  It  is  a  story 
of  love  and  despair.  Its  form  and  tone  may  be  judged  by 
the  last  of  its  twenty-seven  stanzas  :  — 


572  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

"  Hang  up  my  harp  again ! 
I  have  no  voice  for  song. 
Not  song,  but  wail,  and  mourners  pale, 

Not  bards,  to  love  belong. 
O  failing  human  love! 

O  light,  by  darkness  known! 
Oh  false,  the  while  thou  treadest  earth ! 
Oh  deaf  beneath  the  stone! 

Margret,  Margret." 

This  was  followed  several  months  later  by  "The  Poet's 
Vow,"  pitched  in  the  same  melancholy  key,  but  wrought 
out  with  rich  fancy  and  deep  feeling.  It  teaches  the 
lesson  that  we  cannot  cut  ourselves  loose  from  our  kind 
and  renounce  our  humanity.  This  self-sufficiency  is  not 
possible  even  to  the  angels  :  — 

"  The  self-poised  God  may  dwell  alone 
With  inward  glorying ; 
But  God's  chief  angel  waiteth  for 

A  brother's  voice  to  sing; 
And  a  lonely  creature  of  sinful  nature, 
It  is  an  awful  thing." 

In  1838  Miss  Barrett  appeared  before  the  public  in  a 
volume  entitled  "The  Seraphim  and  Other  Poems."  The 
time  was  favorable.  The  great  poets  of  the  earlier  part 
of  the  century — Scott,  Byron,  Shelley,  Coleridge  —  had 
finished  their  work.  Tennyson  was  but  exercising  himself 
in  metrical  effects,  and  Browning  had  only  given  intima- 
tions of  his  power.  The  volume  met  with  an  encouraging 
reception.  The  critics  recognized  the  author's  poetic  abil- 
ity. Her  genius  was  pronounced  "of  a  high  order"  ;  she 
was  declared  to  possess  "  many  of  the  highest  qualities  of 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING.  573 

the  divine  art."  But  the  praise  was  tempered  with  no 
little  censure ;  she  was  charged  with  mannerism,  a  lack 
of  taste,  and  obscurity  of  style.  "The  Seraphim"  is  a 
lyrical  drama,  of  which  the  dramatis  persoiKE  are  two 
seraphs,  standing  first  on  "  the  outer  side  of  the  shut 
heavenly  gate,"  and  then  in  "mid-air  above  the  Jordan." 
The  theme*  is  ambitious ;  and  while  its  lyrical  excellence 
is  readily  recognized,  it  is  obviously  beyond  the  reach  of 
human  genius.  Among  the  other  poems  printed  in  this 
volume  "  Cowper's  Grave  "  has  been  justly  admired. 

In  1838  the  state  of  Miss  Barrett's  health  became  so 
alarming  that  her  physician  recommended  a  warmer  cli- 
mate. Accordingly  she  went  to  Torquay,  a  watering-place 
on  the  south  coast  of  Devonshire.  She  was  accompanied 
by  her  brother  Edward,  who  had  been  her  favorite  com- 
panion from  childhood.  Notwithstanding  her  continued 
physical  weakness,  her  tireless  intellect  was  engaged  in 
literary  labors  and  ambitious  literary  schemes.  Among 
the  poems  dating  from  this  period  is  "  Crowned  and 
Buried,"  a  strong  and  elevated  tribute  to  the  first  Napo- 
leon. But  her  stay  here  was  destined  to  have  a  mournful 
end.  Her  brother,  with  two  companions,  was  drowned. 
She  was  prostrated  by  the  dreadful  shock;  and  hence- 
forth Torquay,  with  its  horrible  associations,  became  in- 
tolerable to  her  sensitive  nature. 

In  1 84 1  she  returned  to  her  father's  house  in  London, 
where  her  life  for  the  next  five  years  was  that  of  a  con- 
firmed invalid.  The  greater  part  of  the  year  she  was 
confined  to  her  room,  and  it  was  only  on  warm  summer 
days  that  she  could  venture  out  of  the  house  at  all.  Only 
a  few  intimate  friends  were  permitted    to   see  her.      But 


574  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

under  these  unfavorable  conditions  she  carried  on  her 
literary  work.  In  1842  she  published  in  the  Athcnceiim 
a  series  of  papers  on  the  Greek  Christian  poets,  and  a 
few  months  later  a  series  on  the  English  poets.  She  con- 
tinued her  studies  in  Greek  literature,  and  among  other 
things  read  Plato  entire  in  the  original. 

The  year  1844  was  an  important  epoch  in  the  life  of 
Miss  Barrett.  She  published  two  volumes  of  poetry,  which 
established  her  fame  on  a  permanent  basis.  Shortly  be- 
fore this  Tennyson  and  Browning  had  published  some 
of  their  best-known  work ;  but  these  volumes  placed  her 
by  the  side  of  these  masterful  intellects.  She  took  her 
place  as  the  first  of  English  poetesses.  Blackwood,  in  an 
elaborate  review,  declared  that  "  her  genius  is  profound, 
unsullied,  and  without  a  flaw." 

These  two  volumes  of  1844  contain  some  of  Miss 
Barrett's  most  popular  work.  "The  Drama  of  Exile" 
refers  to  the  expulsion  of  Adam  and  Eve  from  Para- 
dise. It  contains  passages  of  striking  thought  and  lyrical 
beauty,  though  as  a  whole  it  is  too  remote  from  human 
experience  to  become  widely  popular.  The  following 
lines  may  be  taken  as  expressing  the  author's  fundamental 

view  of  life  :  — 

"  Live  and  love. 

Doing  both  nobly,  because  lowlily  ; 

Live  and  worlv,  strongly,  because  patiently! 

And,  for  the  deed  of  death,  trust  to  God 

That  it  be  well  done,  unrepented  of, 

And  not  to  loss.     And  thence  with  constant  prayers 

Fasten  your  souls  so  high,  that  constantly 

The  smile  of  your  heroic  cheer  may  float 

Above  all  floods  of  earthly  agonies. 

Purification  being  the  joy  of  pain!" 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING.  575 

"A  Vision  of  Poets,"  which  contains  a  brief  characteri- 
zation of  the  principal  Greek,  Roman,  Itahan,  French,  and 
English  bards,  abounds  in  deep  thought.  The  moral  of 
the  poem,  which  the  author  herself  had  learned  by  expe- 
rience, is  contained  in  the  last  stanza :  — 

"'Glory  to  God  —  to  God! '    he  saith, 
Knowledge  by  suffering  enter eth, 
And  life  is  perfected  by  death.'''' 

"The  Romaunt  of  the  Page"  and  the  "Rhyme  of  the 
Duchess  May  "  are  ballads  of  deathless  love.  "  The  Dead 
Pan  "  is  a  noble  song,  which  recognizes  the  fact  of  human 

progress :  — 

'•'  Earth  outgrows  the  mythic  fancies 

Sung  beside  her  in  her  youth, 
And  those  debonair  romances 
Sound  but  dull  beside  the  truth. 
Phoebus^  chariot  course  is  run  : 
Look  up,  poets,  to  the  sun  ! 

Pan,  Pan  is  dead." 

"The  Sleep,"  with  its  refrain, — 

"  He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep,"  — 

is  a  poem  of  sweet  comforting  power.  But  the  most 
popular  of  all  was  the  romantic,  unconventional  "  Lady 
Geraldine's  Courtship."  It  was  hastily  written  to  swell 
the  first  volume  to  the  requisite  number  of  pages,  the 
last  hundred  and  forty-seven  lines  being  written  in  a 
single  day.  In  spite  of  Lady  Geraldine's  infatuation, 
the  hero  seems  wanting  in  true  manliness  of  feeling  and 
conduct. 

The  volume  in  question  did  more  than  establish   Miss 


5/6  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Barrett's  fame.  In  "  Lady  Geraldine's  Courtship  "  she 
had  made  a  graceful  reference  to  Browning.  This  led 
to  an  acquaintance,  which  speedily  ripened  into  love.  In 
view  of  her  invalid  condition,  she  for  a  time  rejected  his 
suit.  Her  conduct  exhibited  the  highest  degree  of  unsel- 
fishness. But  at  length,  when  her  health  had  become  bet- 
ter, she  consented  to  marriage,  which  took  place  Sept.  12, 
1846.  Owing  to  Mr.  Barrett's  unreasonable  objection  to 
the  marriage  of  his  children,  the  ceremony  was  clandes- 
tine. Though  her  father  never  forgave  her,  the  results 
amply  justified  her  independent  course.  In  all  the  annals 
of  literature,  there  is  scarcely  a  record  of  a  happier  union. 
A  week  after  the  marriage,  the  couple  started  to  Italy, 
which,  for  the  rest  of  her  life,  was  to  be  Mrs.  Brown- 
ing's home. 

In  one  of  her  letters  she  has  told  the  story  of  her 
courtship  and  marriage,  in  a  straightforward  way;  but 
the  deepest  and  truest  record  of  her  inner  life  during 
that  period  is  found  in  her  "  Sonnets  from  the  Portu- 
guese." They  were  not  written  for  the  public;  and  it 
was  not  till  some  months  after  her  marriage  that  they 
were  shown  to  her  husband.  He  at  once  pronounced 
them  "the  finest  sonnets  written  in  any  language  since 
Shakespeare."  They  embody  Mrs.  Browning's  best  work,' 
and  rank  in  the  very  forefront  of  English  love  poems. 
The  first  of  the  series  is  regarded  by  Stedman  as  the  best 
sonnet  in  our  language  :  — 

"  I  thought  once  how  Theocritus  had  sung 
Of  the  sweet  years,  the  dear  and  wished-for  years, 
Wlio  each  one  in  a  gracious  hand  appears 
To  bear  a  gift  for  mortals,  old  or  young ; 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING.  577 

And,  as  I  mused  it  in  his  antique  tongue, 
I  saw  in  gradual  vision,  thro'  my  tears. 
The  sweet,  sad  years,  the  melancholy  years, 
Those  of  my  own  life,  who  by  turns  had  flung 
A  shadow  across  me.     Straightway  I  was  'ware, 
So  weeping,  how  a  mystic  shape  did  move 
Behind  me,  and  drew  me  backward  by  the  hair; 
And  a  voice  said  in  mastery,  while  I  strove, 
'  Guess  now  who  holds  tliee  ? '     '  Death,'  I  said. 

But  then 
The  silver  answer  rang,  '  Not  Death,  but  Love.'  " 

After  spending  a  few  months  in  Pisa,  the  poet  pair, 
in  1847,  took  up  their  residence  in  Florence,  where  they 
rented,  and  tastefully  furnished,  rooms  in  the  Casa  Guidi. 
Though  they  were  frequently  on  the  wing,  especially  in 
the  hot  summer  months,  they  looked  upon  the  "  City  of 
Flowers  "  as  their  home.  Their  days  passed  in  quiet  hap- 
piness. "  I  can't  make  Robert  go  out  a  single  evening," 
Mrs.  Browning  wrote,  "  not  even  to  a  concert,  nor  to  hear 
a  play  of  Alfieri's,  yet  we  fill  up  our  days  with  books  and 
music  (and  a  little  writing  has  its  share),  and  wonder  at 
the  clock  for  galloping." 

In  185 1  Mrs.  Browning  published  her  "Casa  Guidi 
Windows,"  a  poem  in  two  parts,  in  which  she  gives  her 
impressions  of  contemporary  political  events  in  Italy.  As 
a  thoughtful  woman  of  wide  sympathies,  her  interest  ex- 
tended beyond  the  narrow  confines  of  her  household, 
though  the  advent  of  a  son  early  in  1849  had  awakened  a 
wealth  of  maternal  affection.  Like  her  husband,  she  was 
strongly  democratic  in  her  sympathies  and  ardently 
longed  for  the  freedom  of  her  adopted  country.  The  deep 
interest  with  which  she  followed  the  rapid  succession  of 

2P 


5/8  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

events  at  this  critical  period,  is  shown  in  her  letters.  The 
first  part  of  "  Casa  Guidi  Windows,"  which  was  written  in 
1848,  gives  expression  to  her  hopes  and  aspirations.  She 
bravely  urges  the  struggle  for  liberty  :  — 

"  The  world  shows  nothing  lost ; 
Therefore  not  blood.     Above  or  underneath, 

What  matter,  brothers,  if  ye  keep  your  post 
On  duty's  side  ?     As  sword- returns  to  sheath, 

So  dust  to  grave  ;  but  souls  find  place  in  heaven. 
Heroic  daring  is  the  true  success, 

The  eucharistic  bread  requires  no  leaven ; 
And,  though  your  ends  were  hopeless,  we  should  bless 

Your  cause  as  holy.     Strive  —  and  having  striven, 
Take  for  God's  recompense  that  righteousness.'" 

The  second  part  of  "  Casa  Guidi  Windows  "  is  filled  with 
disappointment  over  the  failure  of  the  Itahan  struggle  for 
liberty.  Mrs.  Browning  did  not  belong  to  the  timid  souls 
that  love  peace  "  at  any  price  "  :  — 

<'  I  love  no  peace  which  is  not  fellowship, 

And  which  includes  not  mercy.     I  could  have 

Rather  the  raking  of  the  guns  across 
The  world,  and  shrieks  against  heaven's  architrave ; 

Rather  the  struggle  in  the  slippery  fosse 
Of  dying  men  and  horses,  and  the  wave 

Blood-bubbling." 


'&• 


But  in  her  disappointment  over  actual  results,  the  poet 
did  not  lose  hope.  She  held  that  an  aspiring  people  can- 
not be  permanently  kept  down,  and  that,  therefore,  the 
independence  of  Italy  was  only  a  question  of  time.  The 
poem  closes  in  this  hope,  which  was  realized  only  a  few 
years  later :  — 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING.  579 

"We  will  trust  God.     The  blank  interstices 
Men  take  for  ruins,  he  will  build  into 
With  pillared  marbles  rare,  or  knit  across 
With  generous  arches,  till  the  fane's  complete." 

In  1851,  the  year  "  Casa  Guidi  Windows"  appeared, 
the  Brownings  spent  some  months  in  England  and 
France.  In  both  London  and  Paris  they  met  the  most 
distinguished  Hterary  people  of  the  day.  From  their 
apartments  on  the  Avenue  des  Champs  Elysees  in  Paris, 
they  witnessed  some  of  the  exciting  scenes  of  the  cele- 
brated coup  d'etat  of  Louis  Napoleon.  Unlike  her  hus- 
band, Mrs.  Browning  had  unbounded  confidence  in  his 
ability,  integrity,  and  patriotism. 

At  this  period  Mrs.  Browning  became  deeply  interested 
in  spiritualism.  She  attended  spiritualistic  seances  and  was 
deeply  impressed  by  a  sense  of  mystery.  She  attached 
more  importance  to  the  fact  of  spiritualistic  revelations 
than  to  the  matter  of  them,  which  she  recognized  as  often 
trivial  or  false.  They  seemed  to  give,  what  her  soul 
greatly  longed  for,  an  indisputable  evidence  of  individual 
immortality.  Her  husband  did  not  share  her  behef  ;  and 
spiritualism  is  the  only  subject  on  which  they  ever  had 
any  serious  disagreement.  Her  letters  of  this  period  con- 
tain a  good  deal  about  spiritualism  ;  and  whatever  may  be 
thought  of  her  credulity,  we  must  admire  the  courage  with 
which  she  defended  her  convictions  and  championed  an 
unpopular  belief. 

In  1855  the  Brownings  made  a  second  visit  to  England 
and  France,  carrying  with  them  a  considerable  body  of 
manuscript.  During  their  stay  in  London  we  get  inter- 
esting glimpses  of  Tennyson,  Ruskin,  Carlyle,  and  others. 


580  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

"One  of  the  pleasantest  things,"  wrote  Mrs.  Browning, 
"  which  has  happened  to  us  here  is  the  coming  down  on  us 
of  the  Laureate,  who,  being  in  London  for  three  or  four 
days  from  the  Isle 'of  Wight,  spent  two  of  them  with  us, 
smoked  with  us,  opened  his  heart  to  us  (and  the  second  bot- 
tle of  port),  and  ended  by  reading  '  Maud '  through  from 
end  to  end,  and  going  away  at  half-past  two  in  the  morning. 
If  I  had  had  a  heart  to  spare,  certainly  he  would  have  won 
mine.  He  is  captivating  with  his  frankness,  confiding- 
ness,  and  unexampled  naivete  !  Think  of  his  stopping  in 
'  Maud  '  every  now  and  then  —  '  There's  a  wonderful  touch  ! 
That's  very  tender.  How  beautiful  that  is ! '  Yes,  and 
it  zvas  wonderful,  tender,  beautiful,  and  he  read  exqui- 
sitely in  a  voice  like  an  organ,  rather  music  than  speech." 
During  her  stay  in  London  Mrs.  Browning  completed 
her  longest  and,  after  the  "Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese," 
her  best  poem,  "  Aurora  Leigh."  It  is  a  novel  in  verse ; 
but  it  moves  on  a  high  plane  of  thought  and  feeling.  It 
was  published  in  1856;  and  so  rapid  was  its  sale  that  a 
second  edition  was  called  for  in  a  fortnight.  Beyond 
any  other  of  her  works  "Aurora  Leigh"  presents  her 
thoughts  on  art  and  Hfe.  She  had  a  high  conception  of 
the  poet's  office.     She  calls  poets  — 

"  The  only  truth-tellers  now  left  to  God,  • 

The  only  speakers  of  essential  truth, 
Opposed  to  relative,  comparative, 
And  temporal  truths ;  the  only  holders  by 
His  sun-skirts,  through  conventional  gray  glooms ; 
The  only  teachers  who  instruct  mankind. 
From  just  a  shadow  on  a  charnel-wall. 
To  find  man's  veritable  stature  out. 
Erect,  sublime  —  the  measure  of  a  man." 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING.  581 

Here  is  her  conception  of  art :  — 

"  What  is  art 
But  life  upon  the  larger  scale,  the  higher, 
When,  graduating  up  in  a  spiral  line 
Of  still  expanding  and  ascending  gyres, 
It  pushes  toward  the  intense  significance 
Of  all  things,  hungry  for  the  Infinite? 
Art's  life ;  and  when  we  live,  we  suffer  and  toil." 

She  had  no  sympathy  with  what  has  since  become  the 
naturahstic  school  of  writing  :  — 

"  Natural  things 
And  spiritual,  who  separates  these  two 
In  art,  in  morals,  or  the  social  drift, 
Tears  up  the  bond  of  nature,  and  brings  death, 
Paints  futile  pictures,  writes  unreal  verse, 
Leads  vulgar  days,  deals  ignorantly  with  men, 
Is  wrong,  in  short,  at  all  points." 

These  extracts  must  suffice  to  ilkistrate  the  thought  and 
manner  of  the  poem.  The  story  itself  is  unconventional, 
but  somehow  the  leading  characters  and  incidents  fail  to 
awaken  anything  like  breathless  interest. 

The  year  "Aurora  Leigh"  was  published,  the  Brownings 
returned  to  Italy.  In  spite -of  her  gradually  failing  health, 
Mrs.  Browning  took  an  intense  interest  in  the  political 
movements  of  1859,  when,  through  the  aid  of  Louis  Napo- 
leon, Victor  Emmanuel  succeeded  in  driving  the  Austrians 
from  Italy  and  in  effecting  the  union  and  independence  of 
the  country.  In  i860  she  published,  in  England,  a  small 
volume  entitled  "Poems  before  Congress,"  in  which  she 
presented  various  incidents  and  phases  of  the  Italian  ques- 
tion. Two  of  the  poems,  "  Napoleon  III.  in  Italy  "  and 
"Italy  and  the  World,"  contain  exalted  passages:  — 


582  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

"The  soul  of  a  high  intent,  be  it  known, 

Can  die  no  more  than  any  soul 

Which  God  keeps  by  him  under  the  throne ; 

And  this,  at  whatever  interim, 
Shall  live,  and  be  consummated 

Into  the  being  of  deeds  made  whole. 

Courage,  courage!  happy  is  he 
Of  whom  (himself  among  the  dead 
And  silent)  this  word  shall  be  said  : 
'  That  he  might  have  had  the  world  with  him, 
But  chose  to  side  with  suffering  men, 
And  had  the  world  against  him  when 

He  came  to  deliver  Italy. 
Emperor 
Evermore.' " 


"  A  Curse  for  a  Nation  "  is  a  severe  arraignment  of  the 
American  people  for  their  toleration  of  slavery.  Singularly 
enough,  on  its  appearance  it  was  applied  to  England  and 
denounced  as  unpatriotic.  Mrs.  Browning  received  all  the 
adverse  criticism  of  the  "  Poems  before  Congress "  with 
becoming  equanimity.  She  had  not  written  them  for  glory. 
*"  In  printing  the  poems,"  she  wrote  to  the  editor  of  the 
AtJiencE2iiu ,  "  I  did  not  expect  to  help  my  reputation  in 
England,  but  simply  to  deliver  my  soul,  to  get  relief  to  my 
conscience  and  heart,  which  comes  from  a  pent-up  word 
spoken  or  a  tear  shed.  Whatever  I  may  have  ever  written 
of  the  least  worth,  has  represented  a  conviction  in  me, 
something  in  me  felt  as  truth." 

The  lung  trouble  from  which  Mrs.  Browning  had  long 
suffered  reached  its  culmination  in  Casa  Guidi,  June  29, 
1 86 1.  Mr.  Browning  has  given  a  touching  account  of  the 
last  moments  of  her  life :  "  She  smiled  as  I  proposed  to 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING.  583 

bathe  her  feet,  'Well,  you  arc  determined  to  make  an 
exaggerated  case  of  it ! '  Then  came  what  my  heart  will 
keep  till  I  see  her  again  and  longer  —  the  most  perfect 
expression  of  her  love  to  me  within  my  whole  knowledge 
of  her.  Always  smiUngly,  happily,  and  with  a  face  like  a 
girl's,  and  in  a  few  minutes  she  died  in  my  arms,  her  head 
on  my  cheek.  These  incidents  so  sustain  me  that  I  tell 
them  to  her  beloved  ones  as  their  right ;  there  was  no 
lingering  nor  acute  pain  nor  consciousness  of  separation, 
but  God  took  her  to  Himself  as  you  would  lift  a  sleeping 
child  from  a  dark,  uneasy  bed  into  your  arms  and  the 
light.  Thank  God!"  She  was  buried  in  Florence,  the 
city  she  loved  so  well. 

A  study  of  her  life  shows  that  she  was  one  of  the 
noblest  of  women.  She  is  to  be  numbered  with  those 
choice  spirits  who  show  us  by  example  how  excellent  a 
thing  life  may  be  made.  In  her  delicate  frame  and  gentle 
ways  there  dwelt  heroic  qualities  of  mind  and  heart.  She 
was  the  friend  of  truth  and  humanity.  She  did  not  trim 
her  utterance  to  suit  popular  feeling.  To  her  truth  w^as 
sacred ;  and  whatever  message  the  muse  brought  her,  she 
uttered  fearlessly.  Her  works  breathe  an  unwavering 
trust  in  God  and  immortality. 

Her  poetry  is  the  sincere  utterance  of  her  soul.  The 
nobility  of  her  nature  and  the  extent  and  refinement  of 
her  culture  Hft  it  above  the  commonplace  in  thought  and 
expression.  Conforming  her  practice  to  her  theory,  she 
let  the  spirit  of  each  piece  determine  its  form.  She  han- 
dles with  ease  difficult  stanzaic  forms.  She  was  a  patient, 
conscientious  worker;  and  her  defective  rhymes,  which 
critics  have  magnified,  were  less  the  result  of  carelessness 


584  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

than  of  an  unfortunate  theory,  which  was  to  give  greater 
freedom  to  English  versification.  In  her  earUer  poems 
there  is,  perhaps,  a  measure  of  diffuseness ;  and  through- 
out her  Hterary  career  she  remained  romantic  rather  than 
classic  in  her  genius  and  art.  But  in  spite  of  all  defects, 
she  justly  merits  Stedman's  eulogy  as  "  the  most  inspired 
woman  of  all  who  have  composed  in  ancient  or  modern 
tongues,  or  flourished  in  any  land  or  time." 


Photograph  after  the  painting  by  G.  F.  Watts- 


fkl^<^(r  (}%^j^/^j4^^l   ^ 


ROBERT  BROWNING.  585 


ROBERT    BROWNING. 

Robert  Browning  was  strikingly  original  in  his  poetry 
and  paid  the  penalty  of  originality.  He  developed  a  new 
vein  in  English  literature ;  he  set  himself  to  explore  the 
mysterious  workings  of  the  soul.  He  descended  to  greater 
depths  than  our  poetical  literature  had  before  reached. 
Finding  the  conventional  style  of  poetry  unsuited  to  his 
purpose,  he  invented  new  forms.  He  devised  the  dra- 
matic monologue,  in  which  various  states  of  the  soul,  in 
relation  to  outward  circumstances,  are  powerfully  por- 
trayed. But  this  departure  from  conventional  form  did 
not  at  once  find  popular  favor.  Indeed,  the  public  seemed 
for  a  time  to  resent  this  innovation  ;  and  so,  like  many 
other  great  original  characters,  he  was  slow  in  gaining 
recognition.  Almost  a  half  century  of  abundant  labors 
elapsed  before  he  reached  what  not  a  few  regard  as  a 
foremost  place  among  English  poets. 

Browning's  poetry  is  not  easy  reading.  Say  what  en- 
thusiastic disciples  may,  he  is  often  obscure.  Scarcely 
any  of  his  poems  yield  up  the  fulness  of  their  treasures 
before  a  third  reading.  There  is  a  rapidity  of  thought  and 
violence  of  transition  that  frequently  make  him  difficult  to 
follow.  His  unnatural  omission  of  the  relative  pronoun 
and  of  the  sign  of  the  infinitive  often  make  it  hard  to  de- 
termine the  grammatical  relations  of  his  words,  and  many 
of  his  allusions  are  beyond  the  range  of  even  highly  culti- 


586  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

vated  people.  In  many  of  his  more  important  pieces  he 
cannot  be  understood  without  study,  and  often  prolonged 
and  severe  study.  But  after  we  have  once  become  famil- 
iar with  his  peculiarities  of  method  and  style,  much  of 
what  was  before  regarded  as  obscure  becomes  perfectly 
clear. 

The  work  of  a  great  author  has  more  in  it  than  his  con- 
scious thought  and  emotion.  It  stands  in  definite  relation 
to  his  era.  No  one  can  wholly  divorce  himself  from  the 
period  in  which  he  lives.  Inevitably  we  partake  of  the 
culture,  the  manners,  and  the  tendencies  of  our  time, 
A  great  writer,  and  particularly  a  great  poet,  is  apt,  above 
all  other  men,  to  be  sensitive  to  his  environment,  and  thus 
becomes,  to  a  greater  or  less  degree,  an  incarnation  of  the 
spirit  of  his  age.  Without  intending  to  do  so,  Dante 
gives  us  a  picture  of  the  spirit  and  thought  of  his  day. 
The  Greek  dramatists  unconsciously  exhibit  the  culture 
and  beliefs  of  the  Age  of  Pericles.  And  in  like  manner, 
in  the  works  of  Browning  and  Tennyson,  we  see  the 
breadth  of  culture,  the  spirit  of  inquiry,  the  wrestling  of 
beliefs,  and  the  introspective  habits  of  the  latter  part  of 
the  nineteenth  century. 

Robert  Browning  was  born  at  Camberwell,  a  suburb  of 
London,  May  7,  18 12.  His  father  was  a  man  of  vigorous 
constitution  and  scholarly  taste  ;  and  for  rare  books  he 
had,  it  is  said,  "  the  scent  of  a  hound  and  the  snap  of  a 
bulldog."  With  a  passion  for  reading,  he  was  strangely 
indifferent  to  what  are  known  as  "  creature  comforts  " ; 
and  his  daughter  declared  that  the  announcement  "  There 
will  be  no  dinner  to-day,"  would  only  have  elicited  the 
placid  reply,  "All  right,  my  dear,  it  is  of  no  consequence." 


ROBERT  BROWNING.  587 

Browning's  mother  was  described  by  Carlyle  as  "  the  true 
type  of  a  Scottish  gentlewoman  "  ;  and  another  said  that 
she  had  no  need  to  go  to  heaven,  because  she  made  it 
wherever  she  was.  But  she  transmitted  to  her  son  a  ner- 
vous constitution  which,  however  helpful  to  his  poetic 
sensibilities,  added  to  his  physical  discomfort  in  the  latter 
years  of  his  life. 

As  a  child  Browning  was  remarkably  active,  restless, 
precocious.  To  calm  his  restlessness,  his  mother  was 
accustomed  to  tell  him  stories,  and  in  this  manner  he  was 
made  familiar  with  the  leading  characters  and  incidents 
of  the  Bible,  and  his  religious  nature  was  more  than 
usually  developed.  He  was  sent  to  a  neighborhood  school, 
where  he  easily  outstripped  his  companions.  He  was  ex- 
tremely fond  of  reading,  and  found  in  his  father's  large 
library  ample  opportunity  to  gratify  his  tastes.  Among 
the  poets  he  especially  admired  Byron  ;  and  at  the  age  of 
twelve  he  is  said  to  have  written  a  volume  of  poems,  which 
showed  the  influence  of  his  master. 

His  youthful  period  was  one  of  singular  unrest.  For 
a  time  he  passed  under  the  influence  of  Shelley  and 
imbibed  some  of  the  radical  tenets  of  "  Queen  Mab." 
Instead  of  attending  one  of  the  great  public  schools,  he 
studied  at  home  under  private  instructors.  He  acquired 
a  good  knowledge  of  French,  and  enriched  his  store  of 
information  by  copious  miscellaneous  reading.  For  a 
short  time  he  attended  London  University,  but  omitted 
logic  and  mathematics  from  his  course  of  study.  He 
gave  himself  seriously  to  the  study  of  music,  in  which,  as 
is  apparent  from  his  works,  he  made  unusual  attainments. 
In  his  eighteenth  year  he  determined  to  adopt  poetry  as 


588  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

his  vocation,  a  choice  which  was  willingly  acquiesced  in 
by  his  father.  As  a  preliminary  step  to  this  calling,  he 
read  and  digested  the  whole  of  Johnson's  "  Dictionary"  — 
a  fact  that  in  a  measure  explains  his  almost  unequalled 
mastery  of  the  resources  of  our  language. 

In  1833  Browning  published  his  first  poem  "Pauline." 
Though  in  after  years  he  spoke  of  it  slightingly,  it  was  a 
remarkable  production  for  a  young  man  who  had  not  yet 
attained  his  majority.  To  a  few  discerning  readers,  among 
them  John  Stuart  Mill,  it  gave  promise  of  great  things. 
Both  in  its  melody  and  imagery  it  contains  a  perceptible 
echo  of  Shelley ;  but  at  the  same  time  it  reveals  not  a  few 
of  the  author's  distinguishing  characteristics.  The  poem 
at  first  appeared  anonymously;  and  it  is  a  remarkable 
tribute  to  its  excellence  that  D.  G.  Rossetti,  meeting  with 
it  the  first  time  in  the  British  Museum,  made  a  full  copy 
of  it.  The  poem  is  largely  autobiographical  and  contains 
many  fine  passages.  The  following  lines  reveal  the  poet's 
passion  for  music  :  — 

"  For  music  (which  is  earnest  of  a  heaven, 
Seeing  we  know  emotions  strange  by  it, 
Not  else  to  be  revealed)  is  as  a  voice, 
A  low  voice  calling  fancy,  as  a  friend. 
To  the  green  woods  in  the  gay  summer  time : 
And  she  fills  all  the  way  with  dancing  shapes 
Which  have  made  painters  pale,  and  they  go  on 
While  stars  look  at  them  and  winds  call  to  them 
As  they  leave  life's  path  for  the  twilight  world 
Where  the  dead  gather." 

There  are  but  scant  records  of  the    poet's  life  at  this 
period.     In   1834   he    went  with  the  Russian  consul-gen- 


ROBERT  BROWNING.  589 

eral,  who  had  taken  a  great  liking  to  him,  to  St.  Peters- 
burg, where  he  spent  three  months.  The  following  year 
he  published  his  poem  "Paracelsus,"  which  shows  a  marked 
advance  in  maturity  of  thought  and  style  as  compared 
with  "  Pauline."  It  is  a  free,  imaginative  treatment  of 
the  historic  Paracelsus,  who  flourished  as  a  famous  alche- 
mist and  physician  at  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury. Somewhat  like  Goethe's  "  Faust,"  the  poem  presents 
to  us  the  eager  aspirations,  the  daring  efforts,  and  the  ulti- 
mate failure  of  a  soul  in  the  pursuit  of  superhuman  knowl- 
edge. In  the  preface  to  the  first  edition,  the  author  states 
the  fundamental  jDrinciple  of  his  dramatic  pieces.  "  In- 
stead of  having  recourse,"  he  says,  "  to  an  external  ma- 
chinery of  incidents  to  create  and  evolve  the  crisis  I  desire 
to  produce,  I  have  ventured  to  display  somewhat  minutely 
the  mood  itself  in  its  rise  and  progress,  and  have  suffered 
the  agency  by  which  it  is  influenced  and  determined,  to  be 
generally  discernible  in  its  effects  alone,  and  subordinate 
throughout,  if  not  altogether  excluded."  This  principle  is 
so  pervasive  in  Browning's  poetry  that  it  should  be  clearly 
understood. 

Browning  was  an  idealist.  In  a  scientific  and  materi- 
alistic age,  he  proclaimed  the  fact  and  worth  of  intuitive 
knowledge.  He  placed  the  seer  above  the  investigator. 
His  idealism  is  presented  in  a  beautiful  passage  in  "  Para- 
celsus" :  — 

"  Truth  is  within  ourselves;  it  takes  no  rise 
From  outward  things,  whatever  you  may  believe. 
There  is  an  inmost  centre  in  us  all, 
Where  truth  abides  in  fulness;  and  around, 
Wall  upon  wall,  the  gross  flesh  hems  it  in. 


590  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

This  perfect,  clear  perception  —  which  is  truth, 

A  baffling  and  perverting  carnal  mesh 

Blinds  it,  and  makes  all  error ;  and,  to  know, 

Rather  consists  in  opening  out  a  way 

Whence  the  imprisoned  splendor  may  escape. 

Than  in  eiTecting  entry  for  a  light 

Supposed  to  be  without.     Watch  narrowly 

The  demonstration  of  a  truth,  its  birth. 

And  you  trace  back  the  effluence  to  its  spring 

And  source  within  us ;  where  broods  radiance  vast, 

To  be  elicited  ray  by  ray,  as  chance 

Shall  favor." 

Though  "  Paracelsus  "  was  coldly  received  by  the  public, 
it  attracted  the  attention  of  a  select  few  and  introduced 
the  poet  to  a  distinguished  literary  circle.  Among  his 
acquaintances  at  this  period  were  Leigh  Hunt,  Barry  Corn- 
wall, Monckton  Milnes,  Dickens,  Landor,  and  Wordsworth. 
But  no  one  exerted  a  more  important  influence  on  him 
than  the  popular  actor  Macready,  who  had  been  greatly 
impressed  by  "Paracelsus."  "Write  a  play,  Browning," 
said  the  actor  one  day,  after  dining  with  the  poet,  "  and  keep 
me  from  going  to  America."  The  result  was  "Strafford," 
the  first  of-  three  dramas  that  were  successfully  acted. 
The  others  were  "  A  Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon  "  and  "  Co- 
lombe's  Birthday."  All  are  interesting  ;  but  Browning 
was  too  metaphysical  for  a  very  successful  playwright. 

In  an  essay  on  Shelley,  Browning  divided  poets  into 
two  classes  —  the  objective  and  the  subjective.  The  ob- 
jective poets  are  chiefly  concerned  with  the  forms  and 
colors  of  nature  or  the  acts  and  outward  experiences  of 
men.  Description  is  their  prevailing  mode.  Or  to  use 
Browning's  words,  the  objective  poet  is  "  one  whose  en- 


ROBERT  BROWNING.  59 1 

deavor  has  been  to  reproduce  things  external  (whether  the 
phenomena  of  the  scenic  universe  or  the  manifested  action 
of  human  heart  and  brain),  with  an  immediate  reference 
in  every  case  to  the  common  eye  and  apprehension  of  his 
fellow-men,  assumed  capable  of  receiving  and  profiting  by 
this  reproduction."  On  the  other  hand,  the  subjective 
poet  is  chiefly  concerned  with  the  life  of  the  soul.  He 
struggles  for  the  attainment  of  new  and  higher  truth.  To 
him  spiritual  realities  seem  of  highest  worth.  Or  to  quote 
Browning's  own  explanation,  the  subjective  poet  has  to  do 
"  not  with  the  combinations  of  humanity  in  action,  but 
with  the  primal  elements  of  humanity ;  and  he  digs  where 
he  stands,  preferring  to  seek  them  in  his  own  soul  as  the 
nearest  reflex  of  the  absolute  mind,  according  to  the  inti- 
mations of  which  he  desires  to  perceive  and  speak."  He 
is  himself  a  preeminently  subjective  poet,  who  takes  as  his 

stage  — 

"  The  soul  itself. 
Its  shifting  fancies  and  celestial  lights, 
With  all  its  grand  orchestral  silences 
To  keep  the  pauses  of  its  rhythmic  sounds ." 

In  1838  Browning  visited  the  principal  cities  of  Italy, 
a  country  which  he  was  afterward  to  make  his  home  for 
many  years.  On  the  voyage  thither  he  wrote  his  most 
stirring  lyric,  "  How  They  Brought  the  Good  News  from 
Ghent  to  Aix."  The  poem  has  no  historical  foundation. 
"  I  wrote  it,"  the  poet  says,  "  under  the  bulwark  of  a  ves- 
sel, off  the  African  coast,  after  I  had  been  at  sea  long 
enough  to  appreciate  even  the  fancy  of  a  gallop  on  the 
back  of  a  certain  good  horse  York,  then  in  my  stable  at 
home." 


592  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

In  1840  appeared  "  Sordello,"  a  poem  of  six  thousand 
lines,  on  which  the  poet  had  been  working  for  several 
years.  It  illustrates  his  fondness  for  mediaeval  themes; 
and  though  he  made  elaborate  researches  to  furnish  him  a 
background,  the  principal  interest  of  the  poem  is  in  the 
development  of  soul  life.  It  presents  Browning's  pecul- 
iarities —  his  psychological  analysis,  his  rapid  movement 
of  thought,  and  his  sudden  transitions  —  in  their  most 
exaggerated  form.  It  is  obscure  to  an  unusual  degree 
and  never  can  be  popular  beyond  a  very  narrow  circle. 
It  has  been  variously  judged  by  distinguished  critics.  Sted- 
man  pronounces  it  "  a  fault  throughout  ...  an  unattrac- 
tive prodigy,"  while  Gosse  professes  to  be  able  to  "  find  a 
thousand  reasons  why  '  Sordello '  ought  to  be  one  of  the 
most  readable  of  books."  The  great  majority  of  readers 
will  agree  with  Stedman,  and  regret  that  the  author's  at- 
tempt to  rewrite  it  in  a  more  intelHgible  manner  was  a 
failure. 

With  "  Sordello  "  the  poet  completed  the  first  stage  of 
his  development.  Up  to  this  time  his  work  had  been  a 
reflection  of  his  own  experience.  In  some  measure  "  Para- 
celsus "  and  "  Sordello "  stood  for  Browning.  But  with 
the  "  Bells  and  Pomegranates "  series,  which  appeared 
between  1841  and  1846,  he  entered  into  a  broader  sympa- 
thy with  human  life.  He  outgrew  the  trammels  of  self. 
"  Bells  and  Pomegranates,"  a  title  signifying  an  alterna- 
tion of  poetry  with  thought,  contains  some  of  his  choicest 
productions.  The  first  of  the  series  is  the  beautiful  drama 
of  "  Pippa  Passes,"  which  consists  of  four  scenes,  with 
prologue,  interludes,  and  epilogue.  Its  heroine  is  "  a  little 
black-eyed,  pretty,  singing  Felippa,  gay  silk-winding  girl," 


ROBERT   BROWNTNG.  593 

whose  artless  singing  on  a  holiday  marks  a  turning-point 
in  the  troubled  lives  of  those  whom  she  fondly  imagines  to 
be  "Asolo's  four  happiest  ones." 

There  is  no  other  poem  in  all  Browning's  works  that 
better  illustrates  his  dramatic  monologue  than  "  My  Last 
Duchess."  For  this  reason,  as  well  as  for  its  artistic  ex- 
cellence, it  deserves  special  attention.  The  speaker  is  a 
nobleman  of  aristocratic  pride  and  high  culture,  but  at  the 
same  time  of  a  cold  and  selfish  nature.  He  was  a  con- 
noisseur in  art.  He  had  married  a  young  and  beautiful 
lady,  whose  love  and  cheerfulness  filled  the  palace  with 

sunshine  :  — 

"  She  had 
A  heart  —  how  shall  I  saj-  ?  —  too  easily  made  glad, 
Too  easily  impressed ;  she  liked  whatever 
She  looked  on,  and  her  looks  went  everywhere." 

The  proud  and  unfeeling  duke  looked  on  this  sweet 
light-heartedness  as  unbecoming  her  station ;  and,  accord- 
ingly, he  commanded  her  to  assume  an  artificial  and 
haughty  dignity.  The  result  was,  that  joy,  and  hope, 
and  love,  were  crushed  out  of  her  life,  and  she  died 
of   a  broken   heart :  — 

"  Oh,  sir,  she  smiled,  no  doubt, 
Whene'er  I  passed  her ;  but  who  passed  without 
Much  the  same  smile  ?     This  grew  ;  I  gave  command  ; 
Then  all  smiles  stopped  together.     There  she  stands 
As  if  alive."' 

The  duke  has  entered  into  negotiations  for  the  daughter 
of  a  count  and  has  received  the  latter's  agent  to  settle  the 
details  of  dowry.     While  showing  him  through  the  palace, 

2Q 


594  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

the  duke  stops  before  the  picture  of  his  last  wife,  and  here 
the  poem  begins  :  — 

"  That's  my  last  duchess  painted  on  the  wall, 
Looking  as  if  she  were  alive." 

The  poem  is  a  tragedy  in  sixty  lines  ;  but  in  place  of  ex- 
ternal actions,  we  have  a  revelation  of  character  and  states 
of  the  soul. 

Some  of  Browning's  fundamental  ideas  are  found  in 
"  Bells  and  Pomegranates."  He  looked  upon  human  life 
as  a  struggle,  in  which  the  soul  is  to  climb  upwards, 
through  successive  attainments,  toward  divine  perfection. 
In  his  drama  "Luria,"  he  says  :  — 

"How  inexhaustibly  the  spirit  grows! 
One  object,  she  seemed  erewhile  born  to  reach 
With  her  whole  energies  and  die  content,  — 
So  like  a  wall  at  the  world's  edge  it  stood, 
With  nought  beyond  to  live  for,  —  is  that  reached?  — 
Already  are  new  undreamed  energies 
Outgrowing  under,  and  extending  farther 
To  a  new  object;  there's  another  world!" 

This  same  idea  of  individual  progress  is  presented  more 
fully  in  a  work  of  later  date,  "A  Death  in  the  Desert"  :  — 

"  I  say  that  man  was  made  to  grow,  not  stop ; 
That  help,  he  needed  once,  and  needs  no  more, 
Having  grown  but  an  inch  by,  is  withdrawn  : 
For  he  hath  new  needs,  and  new  helps  to  these. 
This  imports  solely,  man  should  mount  on  each 
New  height  in  view  ;  the  help  whereby  he  mounts. 
The  ladder-rung  his  foot  has  left,  may  fall, 
Since  all  things  suffer  change  save  God  the  Truth." 

Among  the  other  pieces  of  the  "  Bells  and  Pomegran- 
ates" series  which  deserve  mention,  are  "The  Pied  Piper 


ROBERT  BROWNING.  595 

of  Hamlin,"  written  to  amuse  the  little  son  of  the  actor 
Macready,  and  "  Saul,"  which  ranks  high  among  Brown- 
ing's poems. 

In  1846  Browning  married  Miss  Elizabeth  Barrett,  to 
whom  he  had  been  drawn  by  her  poetic  gifts.  She  was 
an  invalid  and  his  senior  by  six  years.  Owing  to  antici- 
pated opposition  on  both  sides,  the  marriage  was  secret ; 
and  shortly  after  the  ceremony  the  happy  couple  started 
to  Italy,  where,  with  short  intervals,  they  lived  till  the 
death  of  Mrs.  Browning  in  1861.  There  was  deep  intel- 
lectual and  spiritual  sympathy  between  them  ;  and  with 
self-sacrifice  on  his  part,  and  resignation  on  hers,  the 
union,  in  spite  of  her  continued  invalid  condition,  was  one 
of  rare  beauty  and  happiness. 

The  first  three  years  of  Browning's  married  life  did  not 
stimulate  his  literary  activity.  His  mind  seems  to  have 
found  satisfaction  in  the  society  of  his  wife  and  in  the  nat- 
ural and  artistic  beauties  of  Italy.  It  was  not  till  1850  that 
his  next  work  appeared,  "  Christmas  Eve  and  Easter  Day." 
It  is  noteworthy  for  its  direct  discussion  of  Christianity. 
The  poet  believed  that  nature  bears  testimony,  not  only 
to  the  power,  but  also  to  the  love  of  God.  In  "  Christmas 
Eve  "  he  says  :  — 

"In  youth  I  looked  to  these  very  skies, 
And  probing  their  immensities, 
I  found  God  there,  his  visible  power ; 
Yet  felt  in  my  heart,  amid  all  its  sense 
Of  the  power,  an  equal  evidence 
That  his  love,  there  too,  was  the  nobler  dower. 
For  the  loving  worm  within  his  clod 
Were  diviner  than  a  loveless  god 
Amid  his  worlds,  I  will  dare  to  say." 


596  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

In  1855  appeared  "  Men  and  Women  "  in  two  volumes, 
a  work  that,  upon  the  whole,  represents  the  highest  achieve- 
ment of  Browning's  genius.  "  Evelyn  Hope,"  "  Fra  Lippo 
Lippi,"  "  By  the  Fireside,"  "  Strange  Medical  Experiences 
of  Karshish,"  "  The  Last  Ride  Together,"  "  Bishop  Blou- 
gram's  Apology,"  "Andrea  del  Sarto,"  "Old  Pictures  in 
Florence,"  "  In  a  Balcony,"  "  Cleon,"  and  others  are  nota- 
ble poems.  In  their  variety  and  depth  they  reveal  the  many- 
sidedness  of  the  poet's  gifts.  In  several  of  these  poems 
we  have  Browning's  views  of  art.  He  does  not  believe  in 
the  heresy  of  "  art  for  art's  sake."  He  recognizes  the  all- 
pervasive  presence  of  Deity  in  nature ;  and  it  is  the  office 
of  art  to  lead  us  toward  the  fulness  of  divine  truth  and 
beauty.  The  artist  should  have  clearer  vision  than  other 
men,  and  reveal  to  us  the  beauty  that  would  otherwise  pass 
unnoticed.  Mere  skill  in  craftsmanship  is  not  enough  to 
constitute  a  great  artist ;  he  must  also  have  the  uplifting 
power  of  a  lofty  purpose  :  — 

"  Ah,  but  a  man's  reach  should  exceed  his  grasp, 
Or  what's  heaven  for?  ■" 

These  are  the  truths  impressively  presented  in  "  Andrea 
del  Sarto,"  the  faultless  painter.  He  was  a  master  of  tech- 
nique, but  was  lacking  in  loftiness  of  aim.  He  recognized 
in  Angelo  and  Rafael  "  a  truer  light  of  God  "  ;  and  address- 
ing his  unsympathetic  and  worldly-minded  wife,  he  says 
sadly  and  half  reproachfully  :  — 

"  Had  the  mouth  there  urged 
'God  and  the  glory!  never  care  for  gain. 
The  present  by  the  future,  what  is  that? 
Live  for  fame,  side  by  side  with  Agnolo! 
Rafael  is  waiting  :  up  to  God,  all  three  ! ' 
I  might  have  done  it  for  you." 


ROBERT  BROWNING.  597 

Browning's  views  of  love  were  far  removed  from  all 
carnal  taint  or  weak  sentimentalism.  With  him  love  is 
a  deep,  strong  passion,  which,  whether  its  object  is  at- 
tained or  not,  still  brings  its  reward  in  its  uplifting  effect 
upon  the  soul.  Thus,  the  discarded  lover  in  "  The  Last 
Ride  "  is  still  able  to  say  :  — 

"  My  whole  heart  rises  up  to  bless 
Your  name  in  pride  and  thankfuhiess." 

This  deep  and  divine  passion,  so  Browning  maintained, 
might  sometimes  set  aside  or  even  laugh  at  the  convention- 
alities of  society.  This  is  the  meaning  of  the  short  poem, 
"Respectability."  But  to  say  that  he  was  "tolerant  of 
what  is  called  intrigue,"  as  Stedman  has  done,  is  to  mis- 
apprehend the  poet's  meaning.  It  is  lust,  and  not  love  in 
Browning's  deep  sense,  that  lies  at  the  basis  of  a  common 
intrigue.  "  In  a  Balcony "  presents  love  as  the  supreme 
blessing  of  life  :  — 

"There  is  no  good  of  life  but  love — but  love! 
What  else  looks  good,  is  some  shade  flung  from  love; 
Love  yields  it,  gives  it  worth." 

In  Italy  Browning  made  his  home  in  Florence,  "the 
Queen  of  Italy,"  as  Mrs.  Browning  called  it;  but  he 
remained  there  only  a  few  months  of  each  year,  usually 
spending  a  part  of  his  summers  and  winters  elsewhere. 
He  had  a  high  appreciation  of  his  wife's  poetic  gifts,  and 
to  a  friend  he  once  said,  "  She  has  genius ;  I  am  only  a 
painstaking  fellow."  When  she  died  at  Florence  in  1861, 
his  sorrow  was  inconsolable.  "  I  want  her,  I  want  her," 
was  the   simple  cry  that   continually  welled   up  from    his 


598  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

desolate  heart.  Shortly  after  her  death  he  went  to  Lon- 
don, which  was  to  be  henceforth  his  home.  Not  wishing  to 
subject  his  son  to  the  ordeal  of  an  English  public  school, 
he  undertook  the  labor  of  fitting  him  for  the  University. 

In  1864  he  published  "Dramatis  Personae,"  which  con- 
tains several  poems  of  marked  excellence.  Among  these 
are  "Abt  Vogler,"  "Rabbi  Ben  Ezra,"  and  "A  Death  in 
the  Desert."  In  the  first  we  find  an  expression  of  the  poet's 
belief  that  all  the  good  we  hope  or  dream  in  this  life  —  the 
ideals  we  cherish  —  will  hereafter  be  realized.  "On  the 
earth  the  broken  arcs  ;  in  the  heaven  a  perfect  round  : "  — 

"All  we  have  willed  or  hoped  or  dreamed  of  good,  shall  exist; 

Not  its  semblance,  but  itself;  no  beauty  nor  good  nor  power, 
Whose  voice  has  gone  forth,  but  each  survives  for  the  melodist, 

When  eternity  affirms  the  conception  of  an  hour. 
The  high  that  proved  too  high,  the  heroic  for  earth  too  hard, 

The  passion  that  left  the  ground  to  lose  itself  in  the  sky, 
Are  music  sent  up  to  God  by  the  lover  and  the  bard ; 

Enough  that  he  heard  it  once ;  we  shall  hear  it  by  and  by." 

"A  Death  in  the  Desert  "  is  notable  as  the  only  poem 
in  which  Browning  deals  directly  with  historic  Christianity. 
The  poem  seems  to  have  been  evoked  by  Renan's  "Vie  de 
Jesus,"  which  appeared  in  1863.  The  poet  holds  that 
Christianity  ultimately  depends,  not  on  historic  proofs  or 
miracles,  but  on  its  self-evidencing  power.  It  satisfies  the 
heart  and  solves  the  mysteries  of  life ;  and  in  these  facts 
we  find  the  guarantee  of  its  truth  :  — 

"  I  say,  the  acknowledgment  of  God  in  Christ 
Accepted  by  thy  reason,  solves  for  thee 
All  questions  in  the  earth  and  out  of  it. 
And  has  so  far  advanced  thee  to  be  wise. 


ROBERT  BROWNING.  599 

Wouldst  thou  unprove  this  to  re-prove  the  proved? 
In  life's  mere  minute,  with  power  to  use  that  proof, 
Leave  knowledge  and  revert  to  how  it  sprung? 
Thou  hast  it ;  use  it  and  forthwith,  or  die!  " 

The  fame  of  Browning  was  now  well  established.  A 
younger  generation,  untrammelled  by  conventional  preju- 
dices, found  delight  and  profit  in  his  works.  In  1867  he 
was  honored  by  Oxford  with  the  degree  of  A.M.,  and  a 
few  months  later  he  was  made  honorary  fellow  of  BaUiol 
College.  In  1868  appeared  "The  Ring  and  the  Book," 
a  poem  of  twenty-one  thousand  lines.  It  has  been  pro- 
nounced "the  most  precious  and  profound  spiritual  treasure 
that  England  has  produced  since  the  days  of  Shake- 
speare." While  it  is  not  necessary  to  accept  this  enthusi- 
astic estimate,  it  is  unquestionably  a  great  poem.  Of  its 
twelve  long  cantos,  "  Pompilia  "  and  "the  Pope"  are  the 
best ;  the  former  is  a  simple  narrative  of  the  tragedy,  the 
latter  a  fine  soliloquy. 

The  remaining  works  of  Browning  can  be  barely  more 
than  mentioned.  Some  of  them  are  elaborate  composi- 
tions, but  neither  in  matter  nor  in  form  do  they  add  any- 
thing to  the  poet's  fame.  After  "  The  Ring  and  the 
Book  "  he  entered  upon  his  third  period  of  development, 
which  is  characterized  by  reflective  rather  than  imagina- 
tive elements.  Almost  every  year  saw  a  new  work  issue 
from  the  press ;  but  while  we  must  admire  the  poet's  un- 
abated intellectual  power,  we  miss  the  creative  imagination 
that  gave  vitality  and  beauty  to  his  earlier  productions. 

Browning  was  passionately  fond  of  the  Greek  language 
and  literature,  and  in  the  period  under  consideration  he 
made  three  transcripts  from  the  Greek  tragedians.     These 


600  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

were  "  Balaustion's  Adventure,"  containing  a  version  of 
the  "  Alcestis "  of  Euripides,  "Aristophanes'  Apology," 
containing  the  "  Herakles  "  of  Euripides,  and  "  The  Aga- 
memnon" of  iEschylus.  They  reach  a  high  degree  of 
excellence,  and  in  the  first  two  the  dramas  of  Euripides 
receive  an  additional  interest  from  their  setting.  It  is 
remarkable  that  Browning,  with  his  great  fondness  for 
Greek  literature,  refused  to  regard  even  its  best  writers 
as  models  of  style. 

In  "  Prince  Hohenstiel-Schwangau,"  a  thin  disguise  for 
Napoleon  III.,  we  have  a  defence  of  the  policy  of  expe- 
diency. This  poem  illustrates  a  peculiarity  of  Browning's 
method.  In  defending  a  principle  or  course  of  action 
which  the  poet  at  heart  regards  as  false,  the  hero  of  the 
piece  is  made  to  present  truths  of  the  weightiest  import. 
This  is  true  in  "  Bishop  Blougram's  Apology,"  and  espe- 
cially in  "  Fifine  at  the  Fair."  In  the  latter  poem,  while 
defending  inconstancy  in  love,  the  speaker  deals  with  some 
of  the  deepest  problems  of  philosophy  and  life.  Take  this 
passage,  for  example  :  — 

"  I  search  but  cannot  see 
What  purpose  serves  the  soul  that  strives,  or  world  it  tries 
Conclusions  with,  unless  the  fruit  of  victories 
Stay,  one  and  all,  stored  up  and  guaranteed  its  own 
Forever,  by  some  mode  whereby  shall  be  made  known 
The  gain  of  every  life.     Death  reads  the  title  clear  — 
What  each  soul  for  itself  conquered  from  out  things  here." 

The  poem  "  La  Saisiaz,"  which  was  inspired  by  the 
death  of  a  friend,  contains  Browning's  most  elaborate  dis- 
cussion of  immortality.  While  conscious  of  the  weakness 
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ROBERT  BROWNING.  6oi 

Tennyson,  on  the  evidence  of  the  heart.  "  Ferishtah's 
Fancies  "  is  another  poem  that  contains  interesting  pas- 
sages and  valuable  lessons.  It  embodies  the  mature  wis- 
dom of  his  later  years. 

In  its  essential  features  the  character  of  Browning 
might  be  inferred  from  the  preceding  survey  of  his  life 
and  writings.  His  poetry  was  the  honest  expression  of 
his  thought  and  feeling.  In  the  unfriendly  reception  his 
works  long  met  with,  he  showed  the  strength  of  conscious 
genius.  With  something  of  the  sublime  confidence  of 
Wordsworth,  he  pitied  the  ignorance  of  his  critics  and 
counted  on  future  recognition.  As  he  grew  older,  he  had 
a  large  circle  of  devoted  friends ;  he  was  particularly 
drawn  to  noble  women,  who  repaid  him  in  admiration  and 
affection.  Though  of  a  modest,  retiring  nature  —  so  much 
so  that  he  could  never  make  a  public  speech  —  he  was 
often  a  brilliant  talker.  He  bestowed  much  labor  on  the 
revision  of  his  poems.  "  People  accuse  me,"  he  said,  "of 
not  taking  pains!  I  take  nothing  but  pains."  In  his  later 
years  he  worked  regularly,  and  counted  that  day  as  lost 
in  which  he  had  not  written  something.  In  his  political 
and  social  views  he  was  an  avowed  liberal  and  sympa- 
thized especially  with  the  movement  for  the  emancipation 
of  women.  His  last  years  brought  increasing  physical 
infirmity,  and  he  died  at  the  home  of  his  son  in  Venice, 
Dec.  12,  1889.  A  few  days  later,  his  body  was  buried 
in  the  Poets'  Corner  of  Westminster  Abbey. 

Like  Tennyson,  Browning  was  a  great  teacher,  a  prophet 
for  his  people.  He  taught  the  reahty  of  invisible  things. 
The  age  needed  his  message.  For  many  years  there  has 
been  a  strong  drift  in  the  direction  of  what  is  visible  and 


602  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

perishable.  To  many  life  has  seemed  a  hard  and  hope- 
less struggle  —  a  brief  period  of  toil  and  suffering,  which 
ends  at  last  in  darkness.  In  the  midst  of  these  wrong 
and  depressing  tendencies,  Browning  appeared  with  a  voice 
of  courage  and  hope.  He  preached  God,  and  righteous- 
ness, and  immortality,  not  in  the  language  of  cant,  but 
with  the  freshness  and  vigor  of  one  conscious  of  a  divine 
mission. 


At  UiL-  agi;  ul  7U.     Etched  Iruiii  lilt-  In  Paul  Uujuii.     Cuii.viif^litcil  m  ISaS  by  Ircdcrick  Kcppel  & 
Co.,  New  York,  London,  and  Paris. 


ALFRED    TENNYSON.  6o- 


ALFRED   TENNYSON. 

For  the  greater  part  of  the  Victorian  period  Alfred 
Tennyson  stood  at  the  head  of  EngHsh  poetry.  His  ex- 
traordinary poetic  genius  was  supported  by  broad  scholar- 
ship. He  absorbed  the  deepest  and  best  thought  of  his 
age ;  and  instead  of  mere  passing  fancies,  his  poetry  em- 
bodies a  depth  of  thought  and  feeling  that  gives  it  inex- 
haustible richness.  Viewed  from  an  artistic  standpoint, 
his  work  is  exquisite.  He  surpassed  Pope  in  perfection 
of  form  ;  he  equalled  Wordsworth  in  natural  expression ; 
he  excelled  both  Scott  and  Byron  in  romantic  narrative  ; 
and  he  wrote  the  only  great  epic  poem  since  the  days 
of  Milton. 

Few  poets  have  been  more  fortunate  than  Tennyson, 
His  life  was  one  of  easy  competence.  In  the  retirement 
of  a  cultivated  home,  and  in  a  narrow  circle  of  congenial 
friends,  he  steadily  pursued  his  vocation.  Never  did  a 
poet  consecrate  himself  more  entirely  to  his  art.  He 
wrote  no  prose.  He  did  not  entangle  himself  in  business, 
which  has  fettered  many  a  brilliant  genius.  He  encumbered 
himself  with  no  public  office,  by  which  his  poetic  labors 
might  have  been  broken.  His  career,  like  an  English  river, 
quietly  flowed  on  among  fertile  hills  and  blooming  meadows. 

"  From  his  boyhood,"  his  son  tells  us,  "  he  had  felt  the 
magic  of  Merlin  —  that  spirit  of  poetry  —  which  bade  him 
know  his  power  and  follow  throughout  his  work  a  pure 
and  high  ideal,  with  a  simple  and  single  devotedness  and 


604  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

a  desire  to  ennoble  the  life  of  the  world,  and  which  helped 
him  through  doubts  and  difficulties  to  '  endure  as  seeing 
Him  who  is  invisible.'  "  In  "  Merlin  and  the  Gleam,"  the 
poet  has  given  us  his  literary  history. 

The  principal  events  in  the  life  of  Tennyson  are  the 
publication  of  his  successive  volumes.  He  was  born  at 
Somersby,  in  Lincolnshire,  in  1809,  ^^^  son  of  a  clergyman, 
and  the  third  of  twelve  children.  It  was  a  gifted  family, 
which  Leigh  Hunt  called  "  a  nest  of  nightingales."  After 
a  careful  training  in  the  parsonage  under  his  father,  Alfred 
was  sent,  with  two  brothers,  to  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 
His  appearance  was  impressive,  indicating  at  the  same 
time  strength  and  refinement.  He  was  genial,  joyous,  and 
full  of  humor,  though  suffering  at  intervals  from  despond- 
ency. He  was  a  diligent  student,  with  a  taste  not  only  for 
the  classics,  but  also  for  natural  science.  He  took  a  lively 
interest  in  the  political  questions  of  the  day,  and,  while 
opposed  to  radical  or  revolutionary  measures,  was  an  advo- 
cate of  freedom.  In  "  In  Memoriam  "  there  is  a  pleasing 
reminiscence  of  his  college  days,  beginning :  — 

"  I  passed  beside  the  reverend  walls 
In  which  of  old  I  wore  the  gown; 
I  roved  at  random  thro'  the  town, 
And  saw  the  tumult  of  the  halls  ; 

"  And  heard  once  more  in  College  fanes 
The  storm  their  high-built  organs  make, 
And  thunder  music,  rolling,  shake 
The  prophets  blazoned  on  the  panes." 

The  bent  of  his  mind  early  showed  itself  ;  and  in  1827, 
in  connection  with  his  brother  Charles,  he  sent  forth,  as 
yet  an  undergraduate,  a  volume  entitled  "  Poems,  by  Two 


ALFRED    TENNYSON.  605 

Brothers."  As  in  the  case  of  Byron,  this  first  volume 
gave  no  token  of  genius.  The  poetry  was  correct  but 
unreadably  dull. 

In  1829,  in  competition  with  Arthur  Hallam,  Tennyson 
won  a  medal  for  his  prize  poem  on  the  subject  of  "  Tim- 
buctoo."  This  work  contained  some  faint  intimations  of 
his  latent  powers.  His  literary  career  really  opened  in 
1830  with  a  volume  of  "Poems,  Chiefly  Lyrical."  With 
much  that  was  faulty  and  immature  —  suppressed  by  the 
author  in  subsequent  editions  of  his  works  —  this  volume 
announced  the  presence  of  a  genuine  poet.  He  did  not, 
however,  receive  the  recognition  he  deserved.  Christopher 
North,  in  Blackivood' s  Maga.'^ine,  mingled  censure  and 
praise  —  his  cen.sure  being  of  the  positive  kind  then  in 
vogue.  The  poet  resented  the  criticism ;  and  in  a  volume 
published  a  little  later,  we  find  the  following  reply :  — 

"  You  did  late  review  my  lays, 

Crusty  Christopher ; 
You  did  mingle  blame  and  praise, 

Rusty  Christopher ; 
When  I  learnt  from  whom  it  came, 
I  forgave  you  all  the  blame. 

Musty  Christopher; 
I  could  Jifll  forgive  the  praise, 

Fusty  Christopher." 

Among  the  pleasing  lyrics  in  this  volume  are  "  Lilian," 
"  Recollections  of  the  Arabian  Nights,"  and  especially 
"  Mariana  "  :  — 

"The  sparrow's  chirmp  on  the  roof, 

The  clock  slow  ticking,  and  the  sound 
Which  to  the  wooing  wind  aloof 
The  poplar  made,  did  all  confound 


6o6  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Her  sense ;  but  most  she  loathed  the  hour 

When  the  thick-moted  sunbeam  lay 

Athwart  the  chambers,  and  the  day 
Was  sloping  toward  his  western  bower. 

Then  said  she,  '  I  am  very  dreary, 

He  will  not  come,'  she  said  ; 
She  wept,   '  I  am  aweary,  aweary, 

O  God,  that  I  were  dead!'"  . 

In  "  The  Poet "  Tennyson  lays  down  his  conception  of 
the  poetic  character.  The  poet  is  preeminently  a  seer, 
whose  message  of  truth,  flying  over  the  earth,  brings  free- 
dom and  wisdom  to  men  :  — 

"The  poet  in  a  golden  clime  was  born. 
With  golden  stars  above ; 
Dowered  with  the  hate  of  hate,  the  scorn  of  scorn, 
The  love  of  love. 

"  He  saw  thro'  life  and  death,  thro'  good  and  ill, 
He  saw  thro'  his  own  soul. 
The  marvel  of  the  everlasting  will 
An  open  scroll." 

At  this  period  the  poet's  muse  was  very  active.  In 
1832  appeared  another  volume,  which  exhibited  more 
fully  his  poetic  gifts  and  made  a  notable  contribution  to 
English  verse.  He  easily  took  his  place  at  the  head  of 
the  younger  race  of  singers.  His  lyrical  power,  his 
mastery  of  musical  rhythm,  his  charm  of  felicitous  expres- 
sion, and  his  exquisite  handling  of  form  and  color  are 
everywhere  apparent.  His  breadth  of  sympathy  is  shown 
by  his  successful  treatment  of  ancient,  mediaeval,  and 
modern  themes.  The  "  May  Queen,"  with  its  tender 
pathos,   at  once  touched  the  popular  heart.      In  "  Lady 


ALFRED    TENNYSON.  607 

Clara  Vere  de  Vere  "  the  nobility  of  character  is  presented 
in  proud  contrast  with  the  nobility  of  birth :  — 

"  However  it  be,  it  seems  to  me, 
Tis  only  noble  to  be  good. 
Kind  hearts  are  more  than  coronets, 
And  simple  faith  than  Norman  blood." 

In  "  The  Lotus  Eaters,"  how  exquisitely  the  sound  is 
wedded  to  the  sense  :  — 

"In  the  afternoon  they  came  unto  a  land. 
In  which  it  always  seemed  afternoon. 
All  round  the  coast  the  languid  air  did  swoon, 
Breathing  like  one  that  hath  a  weary  dream. 
Full-faced  above  the  valley  stood  the  moon  ; 
And  like  a  downward  smoke,  the  slender  stream 
Along  the  cliff  to  fall  and  pause  and  fall  did  seem." 

This  volume  of  1832  introduces  us  to  one  of  the  funda- 
mental elements  of  Tennyson's  poetry.  It  is  the  blessed- 
ness of  love  in  all  its  simple,  everyday  forms.  He  teaches 
us  that  the  human  heart  was  made  for  love ;  and  when- 
ever, for  any  reason,  love  is  shut  out  of  life,  indescribable 
loneliness  and  sorrow  are  the  inevitable  result.  This  is 
the  truth  presented  in  "  The  Palace  of  Art,"  an  allegory 
wrought  out  with  exceeding  care :  — 

"  And  he  that  shuts  Love  out,  in  turn  shall  be 
Shut  out  from  Love,  and  on  her  threshold  lie 
Howling  in  outer  darkness.     Not  for  this 
Was  common  clay  ta'en  from  the  common  earth, 
Moulded  by  God,  and  tempered  with  the  tears 
Of  angels  to  the  perfect  shape  of  man." 


6o8  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

The  uplifting  and  sanctifying  power  of  Love  is  beau- 
tifully expressed  in  the  "  Idyls  of  the  King  "  :  — 

"  Indeed  I  know 
Of  no  more  subtle  master  under  heaven 
Than  is  the  maiden  passion  for  a  maid, 
Not  only  to  keep  down  the  base  in  man, 
But  teach  high  thought  and  amiable  words. 
And  courtliness  and  the  desire  of  fame, 
And  love  of  truth,  and  all  that  makes  a  man." 

For  the    next  ten   years   Tennyson   published  nothing 

except  a  few  pieces  in  periodicals.     Perhaps  he  had  been 

discouraged  by  the  want  of  appreciation  on  the  part  of 

professional    critics.     But    he    was   by    no   means    driven 

from  his  art :  — 

"  The  hght  retreated, 
The  landskip  darkened, 
The  melody  deadened, 
The  Master  whispered 
'  Follow  the  Gleam.'  " 

This  intervening  period  he  devoted  to  diligent  study, 
enlarging  his  intellectual  range  and  perfecting  himself 
in  artistic  expression.  History,  science,  language,  the- 
ology—  all  were  assiduously  pursued.  He  was  a  care- 
ful student  of  English  poetry.  He  admired  Wordsworth, 
whom  he  called  "the  dear  old  fellow."  He  had  a  strong 
appreciation  of  the  elevation  and  power  of  Milton,  and 
thought  that  "  Lycidas "  was  "a  test  of  any  reader's 
poetic  instinct."  He  believed  that  "  Keats,  with  his  high 
spiritual  vision,  would  have  been,  if  he  had  lived,  the 
greatest  of  us  all."  Shakespeare's  sonnets  seemed  to 
him   scarcely  inferior  to  his  dramas.     This  long  interim 


ALFRED    TENNYSON.  609 

was  one  of  congenial  labor  and  happiness,  and  the  future 
seemed  full  of  promise  :  — 

"  Hope,  a  poising  eagle,  burnt 
Above  the  unrisen  morrow." 

From  time  to  time  he  went  to  London,  where  he  de- 
lighted in  the  "central  war."  He  loved  to  walk  in  the 
busiest  streets,  to  look  at  the  city  from  the  bridges  of  the 
Thames,  and  to  stroll  into  the  Abbey  and  St.  Paul's.  He 
belonged  to  the  Sterling  Club,  and  among  the  prominent 
literary  men  he  met  were  Carlyle,  Rogers,  Thackeray, 
Dickens,  Leigh  Hunt,  Thomas  Campbell.  As  at  college, 
he  showed  an  eager  interest  in  the  scientific  and  economic 
questions  of  the  day.  His  talk  turned  chiefly  on  politics, 
philosophy,  and  religion.  His  face  was  turned  to  the 
future,  — 

"  Yearning  for  the  large  excitement  that  the  coming  years  would  yield, 
Eager-hearted  as  a  boy  when  first'he  leaves  his  father's  field." 

Carlyle  gives  the  following  etching  of  him  at  this  period  : 
"  One  of  the  finest-looking  men  in  the  world.  A  great 
shock  of  rough  dusky  hair ;  bright,  laughing,  hazel  eyes ; 
massive  aquiline  face,  most  massive  yet  most  delicate ;  of 
sallow  brown  complexion,  almost  Indian-looking,  clothes 
cynically  loose,  free  and  easy,  smokes  infinite  tobacco. 
His  voice  is  musical,  metallic,  fit  for  loud  laughter  and 
piercing  wail,  and  all  that  may  lie  between ;  speech  and 
speculation  free  and  plenteous ;  I  do  not  meet  in  these 
late  decades  such  company  over  a  pipe  !  we  shall  see  what 
he  will  grow  to." 

Tennyson  ripened  into  maturity,  and  in   1842  appeared 

2R 


6lO  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

a  new  volume,  in  which  are  found  many  of  his  choicest 
pieces.  He  was  no  longer  simply  a  master  of  delicate 
fancy  and  lyrical  harmony ;  he  had  become  also  a  thinker 
and  teacher.  Here  appears  his  first  work  in  connection 
with  the  legend  of  Arthur  and  the  Round  Table.  Milton 
and  Dryden  had  both  thought  of  the  Arthurian  cycle  as 
the  subject  of  an  epic  poem.  It  was  reserved  for  Tenny- 
son to  reaUze  the  idea ;  and  so  well  has  he  done  his  work 
that  we  may  congratulate  ourselves  that  the  older  poets 
left  the  field  unoccupied.  Listen  to  the  forceful  beginning 
of  the  "  Morte  d'Arthur  "  :  — 

"  So  all  day  long  the  noise  of  battle  rolled 
Among  the  mountains  by  the  winter  sea." 

Where  can  we  find  a  more  graphic  touch  than  the  de- 
scription of  the  flinging  of  Arthur's  sword .''  — 

"  The  great  brand 
Made  lightnings  in  the  spltndor  of  the  moon, 
And  flashing  round  and  round,  and  whirled  in  an  arch, 
Shot  like  a  streamer  of  the  northern  morn, 
Seen  where  the  moving  isles  of  winter  shock 
By  night,  with  noises  of  the  northern  sea." 

Here  is  a  picture  from  "The  Gardener's  Daughter":  — 

"  For  up  the  porch  there  grew  an  Eastern  rose, 
That  flowering  high,  the  last  night's  gale  had  caught, 
And  blown  across  the  walk.     One  arm  aloft  — 
Gownxl  in  pure  white  that  fitted  to  the  shape  — 
Holding  the  bush,  to  fix  it  back,  she  stood. 
A  single  stream  of  all  her  soft,  brown  hair 
Pour'd  on  one  side  :  the  shadow  of  the  flowers 
Stole  all  the  golden  gloss,  and,  wavering 


ALFRED    TENNYSON.  6ll 

Lovingly  lower,  trembled  on  her  waist  — 

Ah,  happy  shade  —  and  still  went  wavering  down, 

But,  ere  it  touched  a  foot  that  might  have  danced 

The  greensward  into  greener  circles,  dipt. 

And  mixed  with  shadows  of  the  common  ground  ! 

But  the  full  day  dwelt  on  her  brows,  and  sunn'd 

Her  violet  eyes,  and  all  her  Hebe  bloom. 

And  doubled  his  warmth  against  her  lips, 

And  on  the  bounteous  wave  of  such  a  breast 

As  never  pencil  drew.     Half  light,  half  shade, 

She  stood,  a  sight  to  make  an  old  man  young." 

"  Dora  "  has  the  charm  of  a  Hebrew  idyl  —  a  poem  that 
can  hardly  be  read  without  tears.  "  Locksley  Hall,"  a 
story  of  disappointed  love,  is  known  to  all,  and  many  of 
its  lines  have  passed  into  daily  use  :  — 

"In  the  spring  a  livelier  iris  changes  on  the  burnish"d  dove  ; 
In  the  spring  a  young  man's  fancy  lightly  turns  to  thoughts  of  love. 

"  Yet  I  doubt  not  through  the  ages  one  increasing  purpose  nms. 
And  the  thoughts  of  men  are  widened  with  the  process  of  the  suns." 

"Godiva"  is  a  story  of  heroic  self-sacrifice,  with  many 

an  exquisite    passage.     As   the  heroine    returned    to   the 

palace,  — 

"All  at  once, 
With  twelve  great  shocks  of  sound,  the  shameless  noon 
Was  clash'd  and  hammered  from  a  hundred  towers." 

Almost  every  poem  deserves  particular  mention.  "  Ed- 
ward Gray"  and  "Lady  Clare"  are  delightful  ballads  in 
the  old  style.  "  Ulysses  "  is  a  strong  treatment  of  a  clas- 
sic theme.  In  "  The  Two  Voices,"  "  St.  Simeon  Stylites," 
and  "The  Vision  of  Sin"  the  poet  enters  the  domain  of 


6l2  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

theology.  The  little  song  called  "  Farewell"  gives  expres- 
sion to  a  feeling  of  sadness  that  has  arisen  in  every  sensi- 
tive bosom :  — 

"  Flow  down,  cold  rivulet,  to  the  sea, 
Thy  tribute  wave  deliver ; 
No  more  by  thee  my  steps  shall  be, 
Forever  and  forever." 

The  burdening  sense  of  loss  on  the  death  of  a  loved  one 
never  had  stronger  expression  than  in  the  little  poem  begin- 
ning, "  Break,  break,  break  "  :  — 

"And  the  stately  ships  go  on 

To  their  haven  under  the  hill ; 
But  oh,  for  the  touch  of  a  vanish'd  hand, 
And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still." 

This  volume  placed  Tennyson  in  the  forefront  of  English 
poets.  What  is  the  secret  of  his  charm  }  Apart  from  the 
exquisite  finish  of  his  poetry,  in  which,  perhaps,  he  has 
never  been  excelled,  his  productions  show  the  indefinable 
but  manifest  touch  of  genius.  In  thought,  imagination, 
and  expression  he  soars  far  beyond  the  reach  of  common 
singers.  But  more  than  that :  his  poetry  is  the  honest 
utterance  of  a  sincere  and  noble  nature.  There  is  nothing 
factitious ;  he  gives  faithful  utterance  to  the  truth  and 
beauty  he  discovers  in  nature  and  human  life.  Unlike  the 
productions  of  Browning,  Tennyson's  poetry  is  character- 
ized by  a  chaste  simplicity  and  clearness.  In  place  of  deal- 
ing with  the  violent  and  tragic  passions  of  life,  he  confines 
himself  within  the  boundaries  of  ordinary  experience  —  to 
the  great  primal  affections  and  interests  —  which  he  invests 
with  the  beauty  or  pathos  of  a  highly  gifted  nature.     It  is 


ALFRED    TENNYSON.  613 

these  facts  that  have  given  him  so  strong  a  hold  upon  the 
popular  heart. 

In  1847  appeared  "  The  Princess."  The  author  called  it 
"A  Medley";  and  such  it  is,  composed  of  mediaeval  and 
modern  elements.  Half  jest,  and  half  earnest,  it  yet  reaches 
a  serious  solution  of  the  vexed  problem  of  woman's  educa- 
tion :  — 

''  For  woman  is  not  undeveloped  man, 

But  diverse ;  could  we  mal<e  her  as  the  man, 

Sweet  love  were  slain :  his  dearest  bond  is  this, 

Not  like  to  like,  but  like  in  difference. 

Yet  in  the  long  years  must  they  liker  grow  ; 

The  man  be  more  of  woman,  she  of  man  ; 

He  gain  in  sweetness  and  in  moral  height. 

Nor  lose  the  wrestling  thews  that  throw  the  world ; 

She  mental  breadth,  nor  fail  in  childward  care, 

Nor  lose  the  childlike  in  the  larger  mind  ; 

Till  at  the  last  she  set  herself  to  man. 

Like  perfect  music  unto  noble  words." 

The  romantic  story  is  deHghtf  ully  told ;  and  the  songs 
interspersed  among  the  several  parts  are,  perhaps,  the  fin- 
est in  our  language.  Where  can  we  match  the  "  Bugle 
Song".?— 

"  The  splendor  falls  on  castle  walls 
And  snowy  summits  old  in  story : 
The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes. 
And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  flying. 
Blow,  bugle ;  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying." 

The  sympathies  of  Tennyson  were  largely  conservative, 
especially  as  he  grew  older.  The  lawlessness  of  Shelley 
and    Byron   was   intolerable  to   him.       He  indeed  lecog- 


6 14  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

nized  the  existing  evils  of  society,  but  he  looked  for  a 
remedy,  not  through  any  radical  break  with  the  estab- 
lished order  of  society,  but  in  its  gradual  development  into 
better  things.  Except  the  question  of  woman's  place  in 
the  social  order,  he  does  not  deal  fully  and  progressively 
with  any  of  the  problems  connected  with  the  democratic 
movement  of  the  age.  He  had  no  sympathy  with  the 
French  Revolution,  and  Paris  seemed  to  him  — 

"  The  red  fool-fury  of  the  Seine." 

He  had  no  confidence  in  democracy  in  its  present 
state  of  ignorance.  "  I  do  not  the  least  mind,"  he  said, 
"  if  England,  when  the  people  are  less  ignorant  and 
more  experienced  in  self-government,  eventually  becomes 
a  democracy.  But  violent,  selfish,  unreasoning  democracy 
would  bring  expensive  bureaucracy  and  the  iron  rule  of  a 
Cromwell." 

In  1850  appeared  "In  Memoriam,"  the  best  elegiac 
poem  ever  written,  and  one  that  will  perhaps  never  have 
a  rival.  It  is  written  in  memory  of  Arthur  Hallam,  a 
bosom  friend  of  Tennyson's  and  a  young  man  of  rich  gifts 
of  mind  and  heart.  A  bright  career  seerned  open  to  him  ; 
but  while  travelling  in  Germany  for  his  health,  he  sud- 
denly died  at  Vienna,  in  1833.  The  poet's  heart  was 
wrung  with  grief ;  and  under  the  weight  of  bereavement, 
he  set  himself  resolutely  to  a  consideration  of  the  great 
mysteries  of  Ufe,  death,  God,  providence,  eternal  life.  He 
does  not  deal  with  these  subjects  like  a  theologian  or  phi- 
losopher ;  but  rising  above  the  plane  of  the  understand- 
ing, he  finds  his  answers  in  the  cravings  of  the  heart  and 
the  intuitions  of  the  spirit. 


ALFRED    TEXNYSON.  615 

No  other  poem  is  so  filled  with  the  thought  and  feeling 
peculiar  to  our  age.  It  rejects  the  seductive  materialism 
of  recent  scientific  thought ;  it  is  larger  and  less  dogmatic 
than  our  creeds.  With  reverent  heart  the  poet  finds  com- 
fort at  last  in  the  "  strong  Son  of  God  "  :  — 

"  Thou  wilt  not  leave  us  in  the  dust : 

Thou  madest  man,  he  knows  not  why ; 
He  thinks  he  was  not  made  to  die ; 
And  thou  hast  made  him  :  thou  art  just. 

"  Thou  seemest  human  and  divine, 

The  highest,  hoHest  manhood,  thou : 
Our  wills  are  ours,  we  know  not  how ; 
Our  wills  are  ours,  to  make  them  thine. 

"  Our  little  systems  have  their  day ; 

They  have  their  day  and  cease  to  be : 
They  are  but  broken  lights  of  thee, 
And  thou,  O  Lord,  art  more  than  they. 

"  We  have  but  faith  :  we  cannot  know ; 
For  knowledge  is  of  things  we  see ; 
And  yet  we  trust  it  comes  from  thee, 
A  beam  in  darkness  :  let  it  grow." 

Tennyson's  love  of  nature,  which  was  scarcely  inferior 
to  that  of  Wordsworth,  was  associated  with  the  pervading 
presence  of  God.  "  Everywhere  throughout  the  universe," 
to  quote  from  his  son's  "  Memoir,"  "  he  saw  the  glory  and 
greatness  of  God,  and  the  science  of  nature  was  particu- 
larly dear  to  him.  Every  new  fact  which  came  within  his 
range  was  carefully  weighed.  As  he  exulted  in  the  wilder 
aspects  of  nature  and  revelled  in  the  thunderstorm,  so 
he  felt  a  joy  in  her  orderliness;  he  felt  a  rest  in  her  stead- 


6l6  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

fastness,  patient  progress,  and  hopefulness."  The  human 
soul,  which  mysteriously  comes  from  the  universal  being 
of  God  —  draws  "from  out  the  boundless  deep  "  — returns 
to  Him  in  death,  and  thus  becomes  more  intimately  a  part 
of  nature.  In  this  behef  Tennyson  sings  of  his  departed 
friend  in  words  of  deep  mystic  beauty :  — 

"  Thy  voice  is  on  the  rolling  air ; 

I  hear  thee  where  the  waters  run ; 
Thou  standest  in  the  rising  sun. 
And  in  the  setting  thou  art  fair. 

"What  art  thou  then?     I  cannot  guess; 
But  tho'  I  seem  in  star  and  flower 
To  feel  thee  some  diffusive  power, 
I  do  not  therefore  love  thee  less : 

"  My  love  involves  the  love  before  ; 
My  love  is  vaster  passion  now  : 
Tho'  mixed  with  God  and  nature  thou, 
I  seem  to  love  thee  more  and  more. 

•'  Far  off  thou  art,  but  ever  nigh  ; 
I  have  thee  still,  and  I  rejoice ; 
I  prosper,  circled  with  thy  voice  ; 
I  shall  not  lose  thee  tho'  I  die." 

The  year  "  In  Memoriam  "  appeared,  Tennyson  was  mar- 
ried to  Miss  Emily  Sellwood,  to  whom  he  had  long  been 
attached.  He  found  in  her  a  worthy  helpmate,  upon 
whose  judgment  he  came  to  rely  more  and  more.  He 
was  proud  of  her  intellect  and  freely  discussed  with  her 
his  various  literary  projects.  Through  her  gentle  fore- 
thought and  care,  he  was  shielded  from  interruption  and 
the  burden  of  correspondence ;  and  in  seasons  of  depres- 


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ALFRED    TENNYSON.  617 

sion  and  sorrow,  he  was  sustained  and  comforted  by  her 
cheerful  courage  and  tender  sympathy.  Their  union  sug- 
gests his  "perfect  music  set  to  noble  words." 

This  same  happy  year  of  1850,  Tennyson  succeeded 
Wordsworth  as  poet  laureate.  After  his  marriage  he  lived 
first  at  Twickenham,  which  he  has  made  "  doubly  classic." 
The  latter  part  of  his  life  he  lived  at  Farringford,  Isle  of 
Wight,  and  at  his  summer  residence  Aldworth  in  Surrey. 
He  gathered  about  him  a  select  circle  of  friends,  who 
esteemed  him  as  a  man  as  highly  as  they  admired  him 
as  a  poet.  He  was  fond  of  reading  his  poetry  to  appre- 
ciative hearers.  In  the  prelude  to  the  "  Morte  d' Arthur," 
he  has  described  his  manner  :  — 

"  The  poet  little  urged, 
But  with  some  prelude  of  disparagement, 
Read,  mouthing  out  his  hollow  oe'?,  and  czt^'s, 
Deep-chested  music." 

In  1855  appeared  "Maud,  and  Other  Poems."  The 
principal  poem  in  this  volume  has  much  divided  critical 
opinion,  but  it  is  safe  to  say  that  it  falls  below  his  usual 
high  achievement.  The  meaning  of  the  poem,  as  ex- 
plained by  the  poet  himself,  is  the  reclaiming  power  of 
lov.e :  "  It  is  the  story  of  a  man  who  has  a  morbid  nature, 
with  a  touch  of  inherited  insanity,  and  very  selfish.  The 
■  poem  is  to  show  what  love  does  for  him.  The  war  is  only 
an  episode.  You  must  remember  that  it  is  not  I  myself 
speaking.  It  is  this  man  with  the  strain  of  madness  in 
his  blood,  and  the  memory  of  a  great  trouble  and  wrong 
that  has  put  him  out  with  the  world."  ^ 

1  Century  Magazine,  February,  1893. 


6l8  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

"The  Brook"  is  a  charming  idyl,  containing  a  delicious, 
rippling  inter-lyric  :  — 

"  I  come  from  haunts  of  coot  and  hern, 
I  make  a  sudden  sally, 
And  sparkle  out  among  the  fern, 
To  bicker  down  a  valley." 

Whatever  doubts  touching  the  poet's  genius  may  have 
been  started  by  "  Maud,"  they  were  forever  cleared  away 
in  1859  by  the  appearance  of  the  "Idyls  of  the  King." 
These  poems  were  received  with  enthusiasm.  Consisting 
at  first  of  only  four  —  Enid,  Vivien,  Elaine,  and  Guinevere 
—  the  poet  afterward  wrought  in  the  same  field,  until  his 
ten  idyls  constitute  a  great  epic  poem.  "  Nave  and  tran- 
sept, aisle  after  aisle,"  to  use  the  language  of  Stedman, 
"  the  Gothic  minster  has  extended,  until,  with  the  addition 
of  a  cloister  here  and  a  chapel  yonder,  the  structure 
stands  complete."  These  "  Idyls  "  belong  to  the  moun- 
tain summits  of  song.  Brave  knights,  lovely  women, 
mediaeval  splendor,  undying  devotion,  and  heart-breaking 
tragedies  are  all  portrayed  with  the  richest  poetic  art  and 
feeling.  Unlike  the  "  IHad  "  or  "  Paradise  Lost,"  which 
appeal  to  us  largely  through  their  grandeur,  the  "  Idyls 
of  the  King  "  possess  a  deep  human  interest.  They  arouse 
our  sympathies.  We  weep  for  Elaine  "the  lily  maid  of 
Astolat,"  the  victim  of  a  hopeless  love  for  Lancelot.    How 

worthy  of  his  praise  ! 

"  Fair  she  was,  my  King, 

Pure,  as  you  ever  wish  your  knights  to  be. 

To  doubt  her  fairness  were  to  want  an  eye, 

To  doubt  her  pureness  were  to  want  a  heart  — 

Yea,  to  be  loved,  if  what  is  worthy  love 

Could  bind  him,  but  free  love  will  not  be  bound." 


1 


ALFRED   TENNYSON.  619 

The  agonies  of  Arthur  and  Guinevere  at  Almesbury  go 
to  the  heart :  — 

"  Lo !  I  forgive  thee,  as  Eternal  God 
Forgives ;  do  tliou  for  thine  own  soul  the  rest. 
But  how  to  take  last  leave  of  all  I  loved? 

0  golden  hair,  with  which  I  used  to  play, 
Not  knowing!  O  imperial-moulded  form, 
And  beauty  such  as  never  woman  wore. 
Until  it  came  a  kingdom's  curse  with  thee. 

1  cannot  touch  thy  lips,  they  are  not  mine, 
But  Lancelot's :  they  never  were  the  King's. 

'F  'P"  ^f"  't"  'T-  t* 

My  love  thro'  flesh  hath  wrought  into  my  life 
So  far,  that  my  doom  is,  I  love  thee  still. 
Let  no  man  dream  but  that  I  love  thee  still. 
Perchance,  and  so  thou  purify  thy  soul, 
And  so  thou  lean  on  our  fair  father  Christ, 
Hereafter  in  that  world  where  all  are  pure, 
'We  two  may  meet  before  high  God,  and  thou 
Wilt  spring  to  me,  and  claim  me  thine,  and  know 
I  am  thine  husband  —  not  a  smaller  soul, 
Nor  Lancelot,  nor  another.     Leave  me  that, 
I  charge  thee,  my  last  hope." 

How  beautiful  the  words  of  Arthur,  as  he  seeks  in  his 
last  moments  to  comfort  the  lonely  and  grief-stricken  Sir 
Bedivere  :  — 

"  The  old  order  changeth,  yielding  place  to  new. 
And  God  fulfils  himself  in  many  ways, 
Lest  one  good  custom  should  corrupt  the  world. 
Comfort  thyself:  what  comfort  is  in  me? 
I  have  lived  my  life,  and  that  which  I  have  done 
May  he  w^ithin  himself  make  pure!  but  thou, 
If  thou  shouldst  never  see  my  face  again. 
Pray  for  my  soul.     More  things  are  wrought  by  prayer 


620  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Than  this  world  dreams  of.  .  .  . 

I  am  going  a  long  way 
With  these  thou  seest  —  if  indeed  I  go 
(For  all  my  mind  is  clouded  with  a  doubt)  — 
To  the  island  valley  of  Avilion  ; 
Where  falls  not  hail,  or  rain,  or  any  snow, 
Nor  ever  wind  blows  loudly  ;  but  it  lies 
Deep-meadow'd,  happy,  fair  with  orchard  lawns 
And  bowery  hollows  crown'd  with  summer  sea." 

In  1864  appeared  "Enoch  Arden,"  a  work  of  great 
beauty.  It  depicts  with  deep  pathos  the  heroism  to  be 
found  in  humble  life.  Beauty,  pathos,  heroism  —  these 
are  qualities  that  give  it  high  rank,  and  have  made  it  per- 
haps the  most  popular  of  all  Tennyson's  writings.  Human 
nature  is  portrayed  at  its  best ;  and  like  all  our  author's 
poetry,  "Enoch  Arden"  unconsciously  begets  faith  in  man 
and  makes  us  hopeful  of  the  future  of  our  race. 

Of  Tennyson's  other  works  we  cannot  speak.  It  is 
enough  to  say  that  they  add  nothing  to  his  fame. 

The  quiet  beauty  of  his  death  formed  a  fitting  close  to 
his  long  and  uneventful  career.  On  the  evening  of  the 
6th  of  October,  1892,  the  soul  of  the  great  poet  passed 
away.  The  prayer  he  had  breathed  two  years  before  in 
the  little  poem,  "  Crossing  the  Bar,"  was  answered  :  — 

"  Sunset  and  evening  star, 
And  one  clear  call  for  me  ! 
And  may  there  be  no  moaning  of  the  bar 
When  I  put  out  to  sea. 

"  But  such  a  tide  as  moving  seems  asleep, 
Too  full  for  sound  and  foam, 
When  that  which  drew  from  out  the  boundless  deep 
Turns  again  home. 


ALFRED    TENNYSON.  621 

"  Twilight  and  evening  bell, 
And  after  that  the  dark ! 
And  may  there  be  no  sadness  of  farewell 
When  I  embark. 

"  For  tho'  from  out  our  bourn  of  Time  and  Place 
The  flood  may  bear  me  far, 
1  hope  to  see  my  Pilot  face  to  face 
When  I  have  crossed  the  bar." 

He  was  entombed  by  the  side  of  Chaucer  in  Westmin- 
ster Abbey,  while  two  continents  lamented  his  death. 

Whatever  changes  of  taste  or  fashion  may  hereafter 
come  in  poetry,  surely  we  are  justified  in  believing  that 
Tennyson  will  continue  to  hold  a  high  rank.  His  work 
is  too  true  in  thought,  feeling,  and  execution  to  pass  away. 
It  will  abide  as  a  perpetual  source  of  pleasure  and  strength. 
While  tenderly  sensitive  to  beauty,  he  possessed  profound 
ethical  feeling  and  spiritual  insight.  Keenly  sympathetic 
with  the  restless  search  after  truth  characteristic  of  our 
time,  he  avoided  its  vagaries  and  dangers,  and  continued 
a  trustworthy  teacher,  inspiring  confidence  in  man,  hope 
in  the  future,  and  faith  in  God.  In  the  words  of  Longfel- 
low's beautiful  sonnet :  — 

"  Not  of  the  howling  dervishes  of  song, 

Who  craze  the  brain  with  their  delirious  dance, 
Art  thou,  O  sweet  historian  of  the  heart! 
Therefore  to  thee  the  laurel  leaves  belong, 
To  thee  our  love  and  our  allegiance, 
For  thy  allegiance  to  the  poefs  art.'" 


622  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


THOMAS   CARLYLE. 

There  are  three  Scotchmen  who  have  reflected  great 
glory  on  their  native  land  by  brilliant  literary  achieve- 
ment. Utterly  unlike  in  temperament  and  character,  they 
have  each  stood  at  the  head  of  an  important  department 
of  literature.  No  one  will  question  the  position  of  Burns 
as  chief  of  popular  lyrists.  Scott  is  supreme  in  historical 
romance.  And  Carlyle }  He  is  the  thinker,  moralist, 
preacher,  who  forced  an  unwilling  generation  to  hear  and 
heed  his  trumpet-toned  message. 

As  in  the  case  of  many  other  great  writers,  Carlyle's 
outward  life  presents  nothing  remarkable.  His  biography 
is  chiefly  subjective.  He  was  not  high-born;  he  filled  no 
prominent  civic  position;  he  was  not  an  active  leader  in 
any  of  the  great  movements  of  his  day.  He  was,  rather, 
a  voice  in  the  wilderness.  His  life  stands  in  striking  con- 
trast with  that  of  Macaulay.  While  Macaulay  was  a  man 
of  affairs,  and  attained  distinction  as  an  orator,  legislator, 
and  cabinet  minister,  Carlyle  was  a  recluse  student,  and 
rose  to  prominence  by  his  power  as  a  man  of  letters. 
Our  study  is  to  be,  not  so  much  a  record  of  outward  facts, 
as  the  development  of  a  strong  personality. 

Carlyle  had  strong  faith  in  the  principle  of  heredity. 
In  his  famous  Edinburgh  address,  he  says :  "  There  is  a 
great  deal  more  in  genealogy  than  is  generally  believed 
at  present.  I  never  heard  tell  of  any  clever  man  that 
came  of  entirely  stupid  people."     In  his  own  biographi- 


I'licitogrupli  after  the  puintuig  by  G.  F.  Watts 


/k</V>v4^    V^^-<-^Lo' 


THOMAS   CARLYLE.  623 

cal  writings  he  gives  prominence  to  ancestry ;  and  in 
his  "  Reminiscences,"  he  pays  an  affectionate  tribute  to 
his  parents,  from  whom,  as  he  points  out,  he  inherited  his 
leading  physical  and  mental  characteristics.  Along  with 
extraordinary  mental  vigor,  his  father,  who  was  a  mason, 
spoke  in  a  style  bold,  glowing,  and  picturesque.  His 
mother  possessed  the  sturdy  sense  and  forceful  uprightness 
that  made  her  a  worthy  companion  of  her  husband.  They 
lived  in  humble  circumstances  at  Ecclefechan,  Scotland, 
where  their  gifted  son  was  born  Dec.  4,  1795. 

In  "Sartor  Resartus "  we  have  an  interesting  autobi- 
ographical account  of  his  school  days.  At  the  age  of 
ten  he  was  sent  to  school  at  Annan,  where  his  sensitive 
nature  exposed  him  to  petty  persecutions  from  his  play- 
mates. He  was  nicknamed  "Tom  the  Tearful."  Yet  he 
did  not  always  meekly  submit  to  his  tormentors.  "  At 
rare  intervals  did  the  young  soul  burst  forth  into  fire-eyed 
rage,  and,  with  a  stormfulness  under  which  the  boldest 
quailed,  assert  that  he  too  had  rights  of  man,  or  at  least 
of  manikin." 

In  after  years  the  training  he  received  at  Annan 
appeared  to  him  exceedingly  mechanical.  Though  he 
made  good  attainments  in  Latin,  French,  and  especially 
mathematics,  he  characterized  his  teachers  as  "  hide-bound 
pedants"  and  "mechanical  gerund-grinders."  In  "Sar- 
tor "  the  school  itself  bears  the  suggestive  German  name 
of  "  Hinterschlag  Gymnasium."  "The  Hinterschlag  pro- 
fessors," he  says,  "knew  syntax  enough;  and  of  the 
human  soul  thus  much  :  that  it  had  a  faculty  called 
memory,  and  could  be  acted  on  through  the  muscular 
integument  by  appliance  of  birch  rods." 


624  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

It  was  the  wish  of  his  father  that  he  should  study  for 
the  ministry;  and,  accordingly,  in  1809,  he  was  sent  to  the 
University  of  Edinburgh.  He  made  the  journey  of  nearly 
a  hundred  miles  on  foot.  Not  many  details  of  his  univer- 
sity career  have  been  preserved.  He  studied  diligently, 
lived  in  comparative  seclusion,  and  devoted  a  considera- 
ble part  of  his  time  to  miscellaneous  reading.  From 
the  chaos  of  the  library  he  fished  up  "  more  books  per- 
haps than  had  been  known  to  the  keepers  thereof.  The 
foundation  of  a  literary  life  was  hereby  laid."  Like 
Bacon,  Milton,  and  a  few  other  illustrious  English  au- 
thors, he  found  fault  with  the  subjects  of  study  and 
methods  of  instruction.  In  the  autobiographical  part  of 
"  Sartor,"  he  says,  with  humorous  exaggeration :  "  It  is 
my  painful  duty  to  say  that,  out  of  England  and  Spain, 
ours  was  the  worst  of  all  hitherto  discovered  universities." 
He  completed  his  studies  in  18 14;  and  while  none  of  his 
professors  seem  to  have  discovered  his  ability,  his  intimate 
associates,  with  greater  discernment,  foretold  his  future 
eminence. 

After  leaving  the  university,  Carlyle  taught  for  two 
years  at  Annan,  and  afterward,  for  the  same  length  of 
time,  at  Kirkcaldy.  He  was  faithful  in  his  pedagogical 
labors;  but  because  he  preferred  his  books  to  the  visita- 
tion of  his  patrons,  he  acquired  a  reputation  for  unsoci- 
ability. But  pedagogy  was  not  his  vocation.  His  native 
dislike  to  teaching  soon  grew  into  a  settled  abhorrence. 
"At  the  end,"  to  use  his  own  words,  "my  solitary,  des- 
perate conclusion  was  fixed  :  that  I,  for  my  own  part, 
would  prefer  to  perish  in  the  ditch,  if  necessary,  rather 
than  continue  living  by  such  a  trade,  and   peremptorily 


THOMAS   CARLYLE.  62$ 

gave  it  up  accordingly."  At  Kirkcaldy  he  had  his  first 
romance,  which  appears  in  idealized  form  in  "Sartor." 

Carlyle  had  not  yet  found  his  work.  His  inability  to 
subscribe  the  creeds  of  the  church  led  him  to  give  up 
the  ministry.  In  18 18  he  went  to  Edinburgh,  where  he 
taught  a  few  private  pupils  and,  at  the  same  time,  studied 
law.  Dyspepsia,  which  remained  a  plague  throughout 
life,  began  to  torment  him,  and  to  tinge  his  thought 
with  gloom.  He  fell  into  a  state  of  doubt  and  unbelief, 
which  in  "  Sartor  "  he  describes  as  "  The  Everlasting  No." 
"  We  see  him  quite  shut  out  from  hope ;  looking,  not 
into  the  golden  orient,  but  vaguely,  all  around,  into  a  dim, 
copper  firmament,  pregnant  with  earthquake  and  tornado." 
In  his  gloom  and  discouragement,  he  thought  for  a  time, 
as  did  Burns,  Coleridge,  and  Southey,  of  emigrating  to 
America. 

From  this  state  of  doubt  and  unbelief,  which  he  calls 
his  temptation  in  the  wilderness,  he  finally  passed  into 
a  permanent  condition  of  faith.  "  This  is  T/ie  Ever- 
lasting Yea,  wherein  whoso  walks  and  works,  it  is 
well  with  him."  This  experience,  which  was  a  kind 
of  regeneration,  was  the  great  turning-point  in  Carlyle's 
life.  It  made  him  henceforth  a  positive  force  for  truth 
and  righteousness.  Nature  seemed  to  him  as  the  vesture 
of  God ;  life  was  filled  with  significance ;  duty  became 
sacred ;  and  an  infinite  love  and  pity  took  possession  of 
his  heart.  He  now  had  his  divine  commission  as  teacher ; 
and  with  the  courage  and  fidelity  of  a  Hebrew  prophet, 
he  delivered  his  message. 

He  gave  up  the  study  of  law  ;  and  after  a  scries  of 
tentative    efforts,    not    unattended   with    discouragements, 

2S 


626  ExVGLISH  LITERATURE. 

he  finally  embarked  upon  the  literary  career,  for  which 
nature  evidently  intended  him.  His  first  work  was  the 
contribution  of  sixteen  articles,  mostly  biographical,  to  the 
"  Edinburgh  Encyclopaedia."  He  translated  Legendre's 
"Geometry"  from  the  French  —  a  task  in  which  his  su- 
perior mathematical  gifts  stood  him  in  great  stead.  But 
far  more  important  was  his  work  in  German,  the  influence 
of  which  on  his  style,  his  thought,  and  the  intellectual 
life  of  England  can  hardly  be  overestimated.  He  made 
himself  the  best  German  scholar  in  the  British  Isles  and 
did  more  than  any  other  writer  to  acquaint  the  English 
people  with  the  treasures  of  German  literature.  He  made 
translations  from  Fouque,  Tieck,  Hoffman,  Richter,  Schil- 
ler, and,  above  all,  Goethe.  His  "Life  of  Schiller"  ap- 
peared in  1823  and  Goethe's  "  Wilhelm  Meister  "  in  1824. 
During  these  years  he  was  tutor  to  Charles  Buller  (after- 
ward a  distinguished  member  of  Parliament)  at  a  salary 
of  two  hundred  pounds. 

While  sarcastic  and  ungenerous  to  most  of  his  great 
contemporaries,  Carlyle  recognized  in  Goethe  his  one 
great  master.  He  spoke  of  Lamb  as  an  "emblem  of 
imbecility."  To  him  "poor  Shelley  always  was  a  kind  of 
ghastly  object,  colorless,  pallid,  without  health,  or  warmth, 
or  vigor."  Macaulay  was  "  a  sophistical,  rhetorical,  ambi- 
tious young  man  of  talent."  He  described  Coleridge,  to 
whom  he  devoted  a  famous  chapter  in  the  "  Life  of  Ster- 
ling," as  "  a  puffy,  anxious,  obstructed-looking,  fattish  old 
man,"  who  hobbled  about  and  talked  "  with  a  kind  of 
solemn  emphasis  on  matters  which  were  of  no  interest." 
But  Goethe,  whom  he  always  speaks  of  with  reverence, 
seemed  to  him  the  most   notable   literary  man  that   had 


THOMAS   CARLYLE.  627 

appeared  in  a  hundred  years.  In  "Sartor"  he  mquires : 
"  Knowest  thou  no  prophet,  even  in  the  vesture,  environ- 
ment, and  dialect  of  this  age  ?  None  to  whom  the  god- 
like had  revealed  itself,  through  all  meanest  and  highest 
forms  of  the  common ;  and  by  him  been  again  propheti- 
cally revealed ;  in  whose  inspired  melody,  even  in  these 
rag-gathering  and  rag-burning  days,  man's  life  again 
begins,  were  it  but  far  off,  to  be  divine  ?  Knowest  thou 
none  such  ?     I  know  him,  and  name  him  —  Goethe." 

In  1826,  after  a  courtship  which  lasted  through  several 
years  and  which  was  not  free  from  storms,  Carlyle  married 
Jane  Baillie  Welsh,  a  woman  who,  above  him  in  birth, 
was  scarcely  his  inferior  in  intellect.  Though  there  was 
genuine  affection  on  both  sides,  the  union  was  not  ideally 
happy.  With  all  her  charming  graces  "Jeannie"  had  a 
sharp  tongue ;  and  in  sarcasm  she  was  a  match  for  her 
gifted  husband.  Occasion  was  not  lacking.  With  an 
intense  devotion  to  his  work,  Carlyle  sacrificed  his  friends 
as  completely  as  himself.  The  honeymoon  was  scarcely 
over  till  he  buried  himself  in  his  studies ;  and  throughout 
the  forty  years  of  his  married  life  he  in  a  large  meas- 
ure sacrificed  domestic  comfort  and  companionship  to  his 
literary  pursuits  and  ambitions.  Patience  was  not  one  of 
"Jeannie's"  virtues,  and  it  is  significant  that  she  wrote  to 
a  young  friend,  "  My  dear,  whatever  you  do,  never  marry 
a  man  of  genius."  But  in  spite  of  all  discord  and  com- 
plaints, she  exhibited  a  beautiful  devotion  ;  and  when  she 
died  in  1866,  she  was  not  undeserving  of  the  noble  tribute 
her  grief-stricken  husband  paid  her :  "  My  noble  one  !  I 
say  deliberately  her  part  in  the  stern  battle,  and  except 
myself  none  knows  how  stern,  was  brighter  and  braver 


628  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

than  my  own.  Thanks,  darhng,  for  your  shining  words 
and  acts,  which  were  continual  in  my  eyes,  and  in  no 
other  mortal's.  Worthless  I  was  of  your  divinity,  wrapt 
in  your  perpetual  love  of  me  and  pride  in  me,  in  defiance 
of  all  men  and  things.     Oh,  was  it  not  beautiful !  " 

After  his  marriage  Carlyle  took  up  his  residence  for  a 
time  in  Edinburgh,  where  he  enjoyed  the  friendship  of 
Sir  WilHam  Hamilton,  Sir  David  Brewster,  De  Quincey, 
whose  unfavorable  review  of  "Wilhelm  Meister "  had 
been  forgiven,  and,  above  all,  of  Jeffrey,  who  took  a  deep 
interest  in  the  struggling  author.  Jeffrey  opened  to  him 
the  EdinburgJi  Reviciv,  in  which  appeared  in  1827  "  Rich- 
ter"  and  "The  State  of  German  Literature."  These 
were  the  first  of  a  splendid  series  of  historical  and  critical 
reviews,  which  came  out  in  the  leading  periodicals  of  the 
day,  and  which  made  him,  with  the  possible  exception  of 
Macaulay,  the  foremost  essayist  of  the  century.  He  toiled 
tremendously  at  the  tasks  he  undertook ;  and  his  essays 
are  characterized  by  exhaustive  research,  deep  philosophi- 
cal insight,  rare  independence  of  judgment,  and  a  passion- 
ate energy  of  expression.  Among  the  essays  especially 
noteworthy,  if  a  distinction  may  be  made  where  all  attain 
a  high  degree  of  excellence,  are  "Goethe,"  "Burns," 
"Voltaire,"  "  Signs  of  the  Times,"  "  Novalis,"  "  Character- 
istics," "Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson,"  and  "Sir  Walter 
Scott." 

In  1828  Carlyle  moved  to  Craigenputtoch,  —  the  Hill  of 
the  Hawks,  —  where  the  next  six  years  of  his  life  were 
spent  in  great  seclusion.  Craigenputtoch  was  a  remote 
farm  in  Dumfriesshire,  of  which  the  best  that  can  be  said 
is,  that  it  was  not  "  the  dreariest  spot  in  the  British  domin- 


THOMAS   CARLYLE.  629 

ions."  It  was  here  that  in  1831  he  wrote  "Sartor  Re- 
sartus"  —  The  Tailor  Patched.  It  is  the  first  book  in 
which  his  strong  personality  found  complete  expression. 
Under  the  character  of  Tcufelsdroeckh,  he  pours  forth, 
sometimes  in  the  highest  form  of  prose-poetry,  his  deepest 
thoughts  on  individual  and  social  life.  While  it  might  be 
styled  a  treatise  on  things  in  general,  its  one  great  purpose 
is  to  teach  the  important  lesson  of  discriminating  between 
appearances  and  realities.  It  is  echoed  in  Tennyson  and 
Emerson.  Though  Carlyle  afterward  modified  some  of 
his  views,  "  Sartor  "  contains  substantially  the  great  pro- 
phetic message  he  had  for  the  world. 

As  his  wife  finished  reading  the  last  pages,  she  said,  "  It 
is  a  work  of  genius,  dear."  Her  judgment,  which  rarely 
erred  in  literary  matters,  has  been  abundantly  sustained. 
Carlyle  had  done  his  best  and  naturally  regarded  the 
result  with  favor.  But  the  London  publishers  were  slow 
to  discover  its  merits.  Its  daring  originality  shocked  the 
conventional  taste  of  the  time,  and,  to  the  great  chagrin 
of  the  author,  he  could  not  get  it  published  for  two  years. 
When  at  length  it  appeared  serially  in  Fmscrs  Magazine, 
it  was  almost  universally  decried  for  what  was  called  its 
obscure  and  barbarous  style.  There  were  only  two  people, 
Carlyle  said,  who  found  in  it  anything  worth  reading,  — 
Emerson  and  an  Irish  priest.  But  he  lived  to  see  a 
change  —  one  of  the  most  remarkable  in  the  annals  of 
English  literature.  Before  his  death  "  Sartor  Resartus  " 
had  becomfe  one  of  the  most  popular  and  most  influential 
books  of  the  century.  It  is  noteworthy  that  its  excellence 
was  first  recognized  in  America. 

Much   has  been  said  about  Carlyle's  style,  which  first 


630  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

appears  in  its  fully  developed  form  in  "  Sartor."  Sterling, 
in  an  interesting  letter  quoted  by  Carlyle  himself,  points 
out  its  leading  peculiarities,  —  its  barbarous  words,  its  abuse 
of  compounds,  its  license  of  invention,  and  its  German 
constructions.  Certainly  it  is  different  from  that  of  any 
other  English  writer,  and  has  justly  called  for  the  designa- 
tion "  Carlylese."  But  whatever  may  be  its  peculiarities, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  was  his  natural  method  of 
utterance  and  that  it  was  an  instrument  of  tremendous 
power.  It  originated,  as  Froude  tells  us,  "  in  the  old  farm- 
house at  Annandale.  The  humor  of  it  came  from  his 
mother.  The  form  was  his  father's  common  mode  of 
speech,  and  had  been  adopted  by  himself  for  its  brevity 
and  emphasis."  Its  rugged  form  —  its  "  nodulosities  and 
angularities" — was  exactly  suited  to  his  rugged  char- 
acter. Its  words  sometimes  fairly  shriek  from  the  pages. 
It  is  exceedingly  concrete  (Carlyle  hated  abstractions),  and 
abounds  in  remote  allusions,  from  which  arises  its  princi- 
pal obscurity.  We  may  apply  to  him  his  description  of 
the  style  of  Teuf elsdroeckh  —  a  passage  that  will  serve  at 
the  same  time  as  an  illustration  :  "  Occasionally  we  find 
consummate  vigor,  a  true  inspiration  ;  his  burning  thoughts 
step  forth  in  fit  burning  words,  like  so  many  full-formed 
Minervas,  issuing  amid  flame  and  splendor  from  Jove's 
head ;  a  rich  idiomatic  diction,  picturesque  allusions,  fiery 
poetic  emphasis,  or  quaint  tricksy  turns ;  all  the  graces 
and  terrors  of  a  wild  imagination,  wedded  to  the  clearest 
intellect,  alternate  in  beautiful  vicissitude.  Were  it  not 
that  sheer  sleeping  and  soporific  passages,  circumlocutions, 
repetitions,  touches  even  of  pure  doting  jargon,  so  often 
intervene!     On  the  whole.  Professor  Teufelsdroeckh  is  not 


THOMAS    CARLYLE.  63  I 

a  cultivated  writer.  Of  his  sentences  perhaps  not  more 
than  nine-tenths  stand  straight  on  their  legs ;  the  remain- 
der are  in  quite  angular  attitudes,  buttressed  up  by  props 
of  parentheses  and  dashes,  and  ever  with  this  or  the  other 
tagrag  hanging  from  them  ;  a  few  even  sprawl  out  help- 
lessly on  all  sides,  quite  broken-backed  and  dismembered." 
In  1834  Carlyle  left  the  dreary  farm  of  Craigenputtoch 
to  live  in  London.  His  limited  means  enforced  the  strict- 
est economy  ;  but  his  modest  home  became  a  centre  for  the 
gathering  of  the  best  literary  talent  of  the  metropolis.  The 
first  years  of  his  London  residence,  from  1834  to  1837,  he  de- 
voted to  the  "French  Revolution,"  a  subject  that  had  long 
occupied  his  attention.  It  is  less  a  history  than  prose  epic. 
In  place  of  conventional  details,  it  abounds  in  graphic  pic- 
tures, tragic  incidents,  and  tumultuous  feeling.  It  lacks  only 
metrical  form  to  take  rank  with  the  "  Iliad."  Carlyle  was 
a  preacher  rather  than  artist.  The  "  French  Revolution  " 
was  written  to  impress  upon  his  age,  which  he  believed  to 
be  full  of  shams,  hypocrisies,  and  injustice,  his  great  funda- 
mental principle  that  God  governs  this  universe  in  justice, 
and  that  all  wrong-doing  will,  sooner  or  later,  be  followed 
by  retribution.  The  first  volume,  the  manuscript  of  Vv^hich 
had  been  accidentally  destroyed  while  in  the  hands  of  John 
Stuart  Mill,  was  rewritten  with  heroic  spirit.  "  What  they 
will  do  with  this  book,"  he  said  to  his  wife,  "  none  knows, 
my  lass ;  but  they  have  not  had  for  two  hundred  years  any 
book  that  came  more  truly  from  a  man's  very  heart,  and 
so  let  them  trample  it  under  foot  and  hoof  as  they  see  best." 
"They  will  not  trample  that,"  she  answered  cheerily,  and 
she  was  right.  While  its  unsparing  independence  of  spirit 
displeased  various   classes  and   parties,  its   unmistakable 


632  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

freshness  and  power  were  immediately  recognized.  It 
placed  Carlyle's  reputation  as  a  writer  upon  a  solid  foun- 
dation. Dickens  carried  it  with  him  in  his  travels  ;  Thack- 
eray gave  it  an  enthusiastic  review  ;  Southey  read  it  no 
fewer  than  six  times. 

But  the  "  French  Revolution,"  while  adding  immensely 
to  his  fame,  did  not  at  once  replenish  his  purse.  Through 
the  kindly  solicitation  of  some  friends,  among  whom  was 
Harriet  Martineau,  he  was  induced  to  deliver  a  course  of 
lectures.  His  reputation  made  it  easy  to  secure  a  select 
and  intelligent  audience  at  a  pound  apiece.  Without  the 
graces  of  an  accomplished  orator,  his  wide  range  of  knowl- 
edge and  rare  command  of  language  made  him  a  speaker 
of  impressive  power.  His  voice  was  harsh ;  his  gestures 
were  abrupt  and  angular ;  and,  worst  of  all,  he  had  the 
habit  of  distorting  his  features  as  if  suffering  great  physi- 
cal pain. 

In  all  he  delivered  four  courses  of  lectures,  which  brought 
him  the  comfortable  sum  of  eight  hundred  pounds,  and  re- 
lieved his  domestic  needs.  He  delivered  his  last  and  best 
course  in  1840  on  "  Heroes  and  Hero-Worship. "  These  lec- 
tures were  shortly  afterward  published  in  book  form,  and 
make  one  of  his  most  interesting  volumes.  Its  underlying 
principle  is  the  belief  that  all  human  progress  is  due  to  the 
small  number  of  supremely  gifted  men,  whom  God  sends 
into  the  world  at  favored  epochs. 

His  next  notable  work,  "  Past  and  Present,"  had  a  politi- 
cal aim.  It  was  inspired  by  the  disturbances  of  1842  — 
a  period  of  financial  depression  and  social  unrest.  The 
odious  Corn  Laws  had  made  bread  dear ;  and  while  the 
noble  and  the  wealthy  were  living  in  ease  and  extrava- 


THOMAS   CARLYLE.  633 

gance,  thousands  of  workingmen,  without  employment, 
were  on  the  point  of  starvation.  The  social  condition  of 
England  in  a  measure  exhibited  the  evils  which  had  pre- 
cipitated the  French  Revolution.  Carlyle  was  filled  with 
indignation  and  alarm.  "  We  seem  to  m-e  near  the  anar- 
chies," he  wrote  to  his  wife.  It  was  these  circumstances 
that  called  forth  the  burning  words  of  "  Past  and  Pres- 
ent" —  once  more  a  mighty  plea  for  truth,  duty,  justice. 
"Foolish  men  imagine,"  he  exclaimed,  "that  because 
judgment  for  an  evil  thing  is  delayed,  there  is  no  justice 
but  an  accidental  one,  here  below.  Judgment  for  an  evil 
thing  is  many  times  delayed  some  day  or  two,  some  cen- 
tury or  two,  but  it  is  sure  as  life,  it  is  sure  as  death  !  In 
the  centre  of  the  world-whirlwind,  verily  now  as  in  the 
oldest  days,  dwells  and  speaks  a  God.  The  great  soul  of 
the  world  \s  Just.''  It  sold  rapidly,  and  exerted  no  small 
influence,  not  only  on  the  thought  of  the  time,  but  also 
on  subsequent  legislation. 

In  1845  appeared  "Cromwell's  Letters  and  Speeches," 
which  had  cost  Carlyle  five  years  of  tedious  and  painful 
toil,  and  which  is  regarded  by  Froude  as  the  most  im- 
portant contribution  to  English  history  made  in  this  cen- 
tury. To  Carlyle  the  great  Protector  was  a  hero,  whose 
sincerity  and  truth  deserved  to  be  held  up  as  an  impres- 
sive lesson  in  an  age  when  "  conviction  and  veracity  were 
giving  place  to  hollow  cant  and  formulism."  It  perma- 
nently rescued  the  name  of  Cromwell  from  the  obloquy 
which  political  and  ecclesiastical  conservatism  had  heaped 
upon  it.  "With  his  own  right  hand,  alone  and  by  a 
single  stroke,"  says  Frederic  Harrison,  "  he  completely 
reversed  the  judgment  of  the  English  nation  about  their 


634  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

greatest  man.  The  whole  weight  of  church,  monarchy, 
aristocracy,  fashion,  literature,  and  wit  had  for  two  centu- 
ries combined  to  falsify  history  and  distort  the  character 
'of  the  noblest  of  English  statesmen.  And  a  simple  man 
of  letters,  by  one  book,  at  once  and  forever  reversed  this 
sentence,  silenced  the  allied  forces  of  calumny  and  ran- 
cour, and  placed  Oliver  for  all  future  time  as  the  greatest 
hero  of  the  Protestant  movement." 

Many  interesting  details  of  Carlyle's  life  at  this  period  — 
his  friendships  with  the  noble  and  the  great,  his  journeys 
at  home  and  abroad,  the  eloquent  appeals  of  his  political 
pamphlets  —  are  necessarily  passed  over.  He  produced 
one  more  monumental  work,  "Frederick  the  Great."  The 
most  elaborate  of  all  his  works,  it  cost  him  thirteen  years 
of  almost  incredible  toil.  During  this  period  he  withdrew 
almost  entirely  from  society,  and,  on  the  best  authority, 
"  made  entire  devastation  of  any  satisfactory  semblance  of 
home  life  or  home  happiness."  The  first  two  volumes 
appeared  in  1858,  the  third  in  1862,  the  fourth  in  1864, 
and  the  last  two  in  1865.  Of  all  his  works  this  had  the 
swiftest  success,  three  editions  being  quickly  exhausted. 
It  was  at  once  translated  into  German,  and  in  Germany  it 
met  with  the  warmest  appreciation.  Henceforth  there 
was  no  one  to  challenge  Carlyle's  right  to  a  place  among 
the  greatest  of  English  writers. 

After  a  long  struggle  against  poverty,  indifference, 
neglect,  depreciation,  Carlyle  finally  achieved  a  permanent 
triumph.  Even  former  opponents  now  recognized  his 
worth.  Scotland,  which  had  long  been  indifferent  or  hos- 
tile to  her  gifted  son,  hastened  to  do  him  honor.  In  1865 
he  was  elected  over    Disraeli   to   succeed   Gladstone    as 


THOMAS    CARLYLE.  635 

rector  of  Edinburgh  University,  and  the  following  year 
he  delivered  his  Inaugural  Address,  which  was  enthusi- 
astically received,  not  only  by  the  students,  but  also  by 
the  people  of  Great  Britain.  As  Tyndall  telegraphed 
Mrs.  Carlyle,  who  was  specially  solicitous  about  her  hus- 
band's success,  it  was  "a  perfect  triumph."  But  alas! 
the  satisfaction  of  it  all  was  to  be  of  short  duration. 
Three  weeks  later,  while  Carlyle  was  still  in  Scotland,  he 
received  a  telegram  announcing  the  sudden  death  of  his 
wife.     He  never  recovered  from  the  blow. 

The  closing  years  of  his  life  were  like  a  clouded  even- 
ing sky,  which,  with  deepening  gloom,  shows  now  and 
then  a  momentary  rift  of  sunshine.  His  bereavement,  at 
one  fell  stroke,  stripped  him  of  his  Titanic  strength.  He 
undertook  no  other  great  work.  Though  he  had  the 
sustaining  affection  of  admiring  friends  and  disciples,  he 
came  to  feel  more  and  more,  as  death  took  away  one  after 
another  of  those  who  had  been  dear  to  him,  that  he  was 
a  lonely  wanderer  in  the  world.  His  one  "  expensive 
•luxury  was  charity  "  ;  for  in  spite  of  the  sternness  of  his 
manner,  and  the  harshness  of  some  of  his  teaching,  he 
had  a  kindly  heart.  The  poor  and  helpless  never  ap- 
pealed to  him  in  vain.  In  the  period  of  deep  depression 
following  the  death  of  his  wife,  he  wrote  his  "  Reminis- 
cences," a  pathetic  record  of  supreme  affection  and  in- 
eradicable remorse.  What  a  depth  of  penitence  is  to  be 
found  in  the  following  admonition,  evidently  based  on  the 
recognition  of  his  own  irremediable  mistakes :  "  Cherish 
what  is  dearest  while  you  have  it  near  you,  and  wait  not 
till  it  is  far  away.  Blind  and  deaf  that  we  are  ;  oh,  think, 
if  thou  yet  love  anybody  living,  wait  not  till  death  sweep 


636  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

down  the  paltry  little  dust  clouds  and  dissonances  of  the 
moment,  and  all  be  at  last  so  mournfully  clear  and  beauti- 
ful, when  it  is  too  late !  "  Though  his  physical  strength 
gradually  faded  away,  his  mind  retained  its  native  vigor 
to  the  last.  He  died  Feb.  4,  1881  ;  and,  as  he  had  de- 
sired, his  body  was  laid  to  rest  in  the  rural  churchyard 
at  Ecclefechan. 

And  now,  what  of  the  man  and  his  message  .?  That 
he  had  his  weaknesses  and  limitations,  has  already  been 
made  apparent ;  but  that  he  was  a  "  blatant  impostor  "  or 
a  "shallow  dogmatist,"  is  what  no  unprejudiced  mind  will 
beheve.  The  foundation  of  his  character  was  a  rugged 
honesty  —  an  unselfish  love  of  truth.  Throughout  his 
life,  in  spite  of  dyspeptic  irritability  and  violence,  he  was 
a  bold  assailant  of  wrong  and  a  fearless  champion  of 
truth  and  righteousness.  With  the  courage  of  a  Hebrew 
prophet,  he  resolutely  put  aside  every  selfish  consideration 
in  the  faithful  proclamation  of  his  message.  In  all  his 
writings  he  labored  in  the  utmost  sincerity. 

Carlyle  was  a  profoundly  religious  man.  Though  he 
could  not  accept  any  of  the  existing  ecclesiastical  creeds, 
he  recognized  the  existence  of  a  personal,  omnipresent 
Deity,  and  reverenced  his  revelation  in  nature  and  history. 
His  religion  lay  at  the  basis  of  his  sincerity.  He  had  no 
tolerance  for  materialism  or  scepticism.  "  No  nation,"  he 
said  in  his  Inaugural  Address,  "which  did  not  contem- 
plate this  wonderful  universe  with  an  awe-stricken  and 
reverential  belief  that  there  was  a  great  unknown,  om- 
nipotent, and  all- wise  and  all-just  Being,  superintending 
all  men  in  it,  and  all  interests  in  it  —  no  nation  ever  came 
to  very  much,  nor  did  any   man  either,  who  forgot  that. 


CARLYLES    MONUMENT.        "  Dead,  who  had  served  his  time. 


J 


Cheyne  Row. 


Was  one  of  the  people's  kings, 
Had  labour'd  in  lifting  them  out  of  the  slime, 
And  showing  them  souls  have  wings." 

—  Tennvson. 


THOMAS   CARLYLE.  637 

If  a  man  did  forget  that,  he  forgot  the  most  important 
part  of  his  mission  in  this  world."  His  experience  led 
him  to  accept  the  truth  of  a  special  Providence ;  and  of 
immortality  he  wrote,  "  The  possibility,  nay,  in  some  way, 
the  certainty  of  permanent  existence  daily  grows  plainer 
to  me." 

He  held,  more  or  less  consistently,  to  a  mystical  or 
transcendental  philosophy  of  nature.  "  All  visible  things," 
he  says  in  "Sartor,"  "are  emblems;  what  thou  seest  is 
not  there  on  its  own  account ;  strictly  taken,  is  not  there 
at  all  ;  matter  exists  only  spiritually,  and  to  represent 
some  idea,  and  body  it  forth."  This  is  the  key  to  much 
of  his  teaching.  To  him  natural  law  was  the  immediate 
manifestation  of  the  Divine  will ;  and  whoever,  therefore, 
in  any  way  contravenes  natural  law,  thereby  sets  himself 
in  opposition  to  God.  He  believed  God  to  be  just;  and 
from  this  fact  he  deduced  his  famous  maxim,  which  has 
sometimes  been  misunderstood,  that  "Might  is  right"  ;  or, 
in  other  words,  that  power  springs  from  righteousness. 
Wrong  is  essentially  weak  because  God  is  against  it. 
"Deep  in  the  heart  of  the  noble  man,"  he  says,  "it  lies 
forever  legible,  that  as  an  invisible  just  God  made  him,  so 
will  and  must  God's  justice  and  this  only,  were  it  never 
so  invisible,  ultimately  prosper  in  all  controversies  and 
enterprises  and  battles  whatsoever." 

This  mystical  or  transcendental  way  of  looking  at 
the  world  explains  the  peculiarity  of  his  political  views. 
He  had  a  deep  sense  of  the  individual  worth  of  man. 
He  adopted  the  words  of  Chrysostom,  "  The  true  She- 
kinah  is  man."  His  fiercest  polemics  are  against  the 
oppression  of  the  laboring  classes.      But  with  all  his  sym- 


638  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

pathy  for  the  common  people,  he  felt  a  deep  distrust  of 
their  power  to  govern  themselves.  He  loved,  but  he  did 
not  trust  mankind.  While  intensely  democratic  in  hu- 
manitarian sentiment,  he  was  aggressively  aristocratic  in 
his  governmental  theories.  He  held  that  only  the  best 
and  ablest  men  should  rule  —  a  class  not  hkely  to  be 
chosen,  as  he  thought,  by  popular  vote.  This  aristo- 
cratic tendency,  which  is  against  the  irresistible  demo- 
cratic movement  of  the  time,  has  largely  discredited  his 
political  teachings. 

In  its  essential  features,  Carlyle's  was  a  great  Hfe.  No 
other  writer  left  a  deeper  impress  on  the  Victorian  Age. 
In  spite  of  weaknesses  and  errors,  the  weight  of  his  life 
was  on  the  side  of  righteousness.  As  he  quaintly  wrote 
in  one  of  his  letters,  "  I've  had  but  one  thing  to  say  from 
beginnin'  to  end  o'  my  books,  and  that  was,  that  there's 
no  other  reliance  for  this  world  or  any  other  but  just  the 
Truth,  and  that  if  men  did  not  want  to  be  damned  to  all 
eternity,  they  had  best  give  up  lyin'  and  all  kinds  o'  false- 
hood ;  that  the  world  was  far  gone  already  through  lyin', 
and  that  there's  no  hope  for  it,  save  just  so  far  as  men  find 
out  and  believe  the  Truth,  and  match  their  lives  to  it." 


HoUyer,  photograph  after  painting  by  G.  F.  Watts. 


/J><Ps 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD,  639 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD, 

In  deference  to  his  express  wish,  Matthew  Arnold  has 
not  been  made  the  subject  of  a  biography.  The  wish, 
no  doubt,  grew  out  of  a  delicate  aversion  to  unnecessary- 
publicity.  There  is  nothing  in  the  general  tenor,  or  par- 
ticular circumstances  of  his  life,  of  which  he  might  feel 
ashamed.  All  that  we  are  able  to  learn  of  him  is  of 
good  report ;  and  whatever  may  be  his  fame  as  a  poet  and 
critic,  he  deserves  still  higher  admiration  for  his  genuine 
worth  as  a  man. 

The  nearest  approach  to  a  biography  is  a  collection  of 
two  volumes  of  his  Letters.  They  were  written  principally 
to  members  of  his  own  family,  and  were  evidently  never 
intended  for  publication.  They  are  written  with  natural 
simplicity,  and  reveal  to  us  a  laborious,  cultivated,  kind- 
hearted  man.  It  is  not  the  "  apostle  of  culture "  that 
speaks  in  them,  but  the  diligent  school  inspector,  and  the 
affectionate  son,  husband,  father,  and  friend.  VVe  hear 
less  about  "sweetness  and  light"  than  about  commonplace 
interests  and  duties.  In  the  words  of  the  editor  of  tTie 
Letters,  who  knew  him  well,  "  Nature  had  given  him  a 
sunny  temper,  quick  sympathy,  and  inexhaustible  fun. 
But  something  more  than  nature  must  have  gone  to  make 
his  constant  unselfishness,  his  manly  endurance  of  adverse 
fate,  his  buoyancy  in  breasting  difficulties,  his  unremitting 
solicitude  for  the  welfare  and  enjoyment  of   those  who 


640  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Stood  nearest  to  his  heart.  Self-denial  was  the  law  of  his 
life,  yet  the  word  never  crossed  his  lips." 

Matthew  Arnold  was  born  at  Laleham,  in  the  valley 
of  the  Thames,  Dec.  24,  1822.  He  was  the  eldest  son 
of  Dr.  Thomas  Arnold,  the  historian  of  Rome  and  the 
famous  head-master  of  Rugby.  "It  is  not  necessary," 
said  the  great  master  once  in  administering  discipline, 
"  that  this  should  be  a  school  of  three  hundred,  or  one 
hundred,  or  fifty  boys,  but  it  is  necessary  that  it  should  be 
a  school  of  Christian  gentlemen."  Matthew  Arnold  re- 
vered the  memory  of  his  father,  and  in  one  of  his  letters 
pays  him  this  tribute :  "  This  is  just  what  makes  him 
great  —  that  he  was  not  only  a  good  man,  saving  his 
own  soul  by  righteousness,  but  that  he  carried  so  many 
others  with  him  in  his  hand,  and  saved  them,  if  they 
would  let  him,  along  with  himself." 

Arnold's  mother,  who  lived  to  enjoy  her  son's  rising 
fame,  was  a  woman  of  marked  excellence  of  mind  and 
character.  She  kept  in  touch  with  the  expanding  knowl- 
edge of  the  century.  When  she  died,  in  1873,  he  wrote  to 
a  friend  :  "  She  had  a  clearness  and  fairness  of  mind,  an 
interest  in  things,  and  a  power  of  appreciating  what  might 
not  be  in  her  own  line,  which  was  very  remarkable,  and 
which  remained  with  her  to  the  very  end  of  her  life."  A 
lar'ge  part  of  his  published  correspondence  consists  of 
letters  to  his  mother.  Well  might  he  say  to  her  in  one  of 
them,  "  The  more  I  see  of  the  world,  the  more  I  feel 
thankful  for  the  bringing  up  we  had,  so  unworldly,  so 
sound,  so  pure." 

We  have  only  meagre  details  of  his  childhood.  In  1836 
he  entered  Winchester  College,  where  his  cleverness  as  a 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD.  64 1* 

Student  secured  him  exemption  from  the  humiliation  and 
cruelties  of  fagging.  A  year  later  he  entered  Rugby,  and 
in  1840  he  won  a  school  prize  with  his  first  published 
poem,  "  Alaric  at  Rome."  The  glimpses  we  get  of  his 
school  life  indicate  that  he  was  a  student  of  unusual  dili- 
gence and  promise. 

In  1 84 1  he  entered  Balliol  College,  Oxford,  where  he 
distinguished  himself  by  the  extent  and  accuracy  of  his 
attainments.  In  1842  he  won  a  scholarship,  and  the  year 
following  he  gained  the  Newdigate  prize  with  his  poem 
on  "Cromwell."  Though  in  later  years  he  criticised  Ox- 
ford, he  always  retained  a  tenderness  for  it,  with  all  its 
faults  loving  it  still.  "  Beautiful  city  !  "  he  exclaims  in  the 
preface  to  his  "Essays  on  Criticism,"  "so  venerable,  so 
lovely,  so  unravaged  by  the  fierce  intellectual  life  of  our 
century,  so  serene ! 

'  There  are  our  young  barbarians  all  at  play  ! ' 

"  And  yet,  steeped  in  sentiment  as  she  lies,  spreading  her 
gardens  to  the  moonlight,  and  whispering  from  her  towers 
the  last  enchantments  of  the  Middle  Ages,  who  will  deny 
that  Oxford,  by  her  ineffable  charm,  keeps  ever  calling  us 
nearer  to  the  true  goal  of  all  of  us,  to  the  ideal,  to  perfec- 
tion, —  to  beauty,  in  a  word,  which  is  only  truth  seen  from 
another  side  .''  —  nearer,  perhaps,  than  all  the  science  of 
Tubingen." 

He  graduated  at  Balliol  College  in  1844,  and  the  follow- 
ing year  became  a  fellow  of  Oriel.  He  taught  Latin  and 
Greek  for  a  short  time  at  Rugby  and  in  1847  became 
private  secretary  to  Lord  Lansdowne.  His  published  let- 
ters begin   the  following  year,  and  enable  us,  from   that 

2T 


642  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

time  on,  to  follow  pretty  fully  his  movements  and  his 
thoughts.  He  took  a  lively  interest  in  the  social  and  po- 
litical changes  going  on  in  Europe  in  1848,  and  lamented 
the  narrowness  and  insensibility  of  England  in  the  pres- 
ence of  democratic  ideas  on  the  Continent. 

For  the  first  time  we  get  a  glimpse  of  his  reading  and 
favorite  authors.  He  lived  with  the  masters  of  thought. 
He  cared  but  little  for  the  literature  of  the  day,  which  to 
him  was  "  not  bracing  or  edifying  in  the  least."  His  es- 
timate of  contemporaries  was  generally  under  the  mark. 
Among  the  authors  he  read  at  this  period  were  Bacon, 
Pindar,  Sophocles,  Milton,  Thomas  a  Kempis,  and  Eccle- 
siasticus.  But  the  two  writers  who  exercised  a  great  and 
permanent  influence  upon  him  were  Goethe  and  Words- 
worth. In  a  letter  written  in  1848,  he  says  :  "  I  have  been 
returning  to  Goethe's  Life,  and  think  higher  of  him  than 
ever.  His  thorough  sincerity  —  writing  about  nothing  that 
he  had  not  experienced — is  in  modern  literature  almost 
unrivalled.  Wordsworth  resembles  him  in  this  respect ; 
but  the  difference  between  the  range  of  their  two  experi- 
ences is  immense,  and  not  in  the  Englishman's  favor."  In 
a  poem  dating  from  this  time,  we  find  another  reference 
to  these  same  great  authors :  — 

"  Too  fast  we  live,  too  much  are  tried, 
Too  Iiarassed,  to  attain 
Wordsworth's  sweet  calm,  or  Goetlie's  wide 
And  luminous  view  to  gain." 

In  185 1  Arnold  was  appointed  inspector  of  schools.  It 
would  be  a  mistake  to  think  of  him  solely  as  a  literary 
man.     For  thirty-five  years  he  gave  himself  diligently  to 


MATTHEW  ARXOLD.  643 

educational  labors,  which  were  often  exacting  and  distaste- 
ful. He  felt  hampered  by  them,  as  he  believed  that  his 
principal  mission  was  literature.  He  frequently  com- 
plained of  the  tedious  routine  of  examining  teachers  and 
papers.  He  made  several  trips  to  the  Continent  to  exam- 
ine the  schools  and  methods  of  instruction  in  France  and 
Germany,  and  his  careful,  elaborate  reports  are  valuable 
educational  documents.  His  conception  of  the  end  of 
education  was  personal  worth  rather  than  practical  effi- 
ciency. "  Soberness,  righteousness,  and  wisdom  —  I  can- 
not consider  tJiat,''  he  says,  "  a  bad  description  of  the  aim 
of  education,  and  of  the  motives  which  should  govern  us 
in  the  choice  of  studies,  whether  we  are  preparing  our- 
selves for  a  hereditary  seat  in  the  English  House  of  Lords 
or  for  the  pork  trade  in  Chicago." 

Arnold  was  married  the  year  of  his  appointment  as 
school  inspector,  and  his  domestic  life  was  peculiarly 
happy.  His  published  correspondence  contains  numerous 
letters  to  his  wife.  He  loved  children  and  entered  heartily 
into  their  enjoyments.  "  As  we  think  of  him,"  says  the 
editor  of  his  Letters,  "  endearing  traits  of  character  come 
crowding  on  the  memory,  — •  his  merry  interest  in  his 
friends'  concerns ;  his  love  of  children  ;  his  kindness  to 
animals ;  his  absolute  freedom  from  bitterness,  rancor,  and 
envy  ;  his  unstinted  admiration  of  beauty  and  cleverness  ; 
.  .  .  his  childlike  pleasure  in  his  own  performances  — 
'  Did  I  say  that }  How  good  that  was  !  '  .  .  .  He  was 
preeminently  a  good  man  ;  gentle,  generous,  enduring, 
laborious ;  a  devoted  husband,  a  most  tender  father,  and 
unfailing  friend." 

His  literary  career  began  in    1849  with  "The  Strayed 


644  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

Reveller,  and  Other  Poems,"  which  was  followed  three 
years  later  by  "  Empedocles  on  Etna,  and  Other  Poems." 
In  1853  he  published  a  volume  of  "Poems,"  made  up 
principally  from  his  previous  works.  He  had  a  high 
conception  of  the  nature  of  poetry,  which  he  defined 
as  "  a  criticism  of  Hfe  under  the  conditions  fixed  for 
such  criticism  by  the  laws  of  poetic  truth  and  poetic 
beauty."  He  did  not  believe,  as  Macaulay  and  Nordau 
have  held,  that  poetry  would  disappear  with  the  full 
maturity  of  our  race.  On  the  contrary,  he  maintained 
that  "  the  future  of  poetry  is  immense,  because  in  poetry, 
where  it  is  worthy  of  its  high  destinies,  our  race,  as  time 
goes  on,  will  find  an  ever  surer  and  surer  stay."  While 
insisting  on  beauty  of  form,  he  laid  particular  stress  on 
truth  and  value  of  substance.  In  one  of  his  sonnets  he 
says  that  the  poet's  muse  should  be  — 

"  Young,  gay, 
Radiant,  adorned  outside  ;  a  hidden  ground 
Of  thought  and  of  austerity  within." 

In  his  poems  Arnold  endeavored  to  keep  his  practice 
in  line  with  his  principles.  By  a  careful  and  constant 
perusal  of  Greek  poetry,  he  largely  imbibed  its  spirit 
and  to  some  extent  followed  its  models.  In  the  preface 
to  the  volume  of  1853  he  says:  "In  the  sincere  endeavor 
to  learn  and  practise,  amid  the  bewildering  confusion 
of  our  times,  what  is  sound  and  true  in  poetical  art,  I 
seemed  to  myself  to  find  the  only  sure  guidance,  the  only 
solid  poetry,  among  the  ancients."  In  a  later  edition  he 
criticises  the  vagaries  of  modern  literature  as  fantastic, 
and  wanting  in  sanity.     "Sanity,"  he  says,  "that  is  the 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD.  645 

great  virtue  of  the  ancient  literature ;  the  want  of  that 
is  the  great  defect  of  the  modern,  in  spite  of  its  variety 
and  power." 

We  cannot  assign  him  a  very  high  rank  as  a  poet  — 
considerably  lower,  indeed,  than  he  imagined  he  deserved. 
"  My  poems  represent,  on  the  whole,"  he  frankly  said  in 
one  of  his  letters,  "  the  main  movement  of  mind  of  the 
last  quarter  of  a  century,  and  thus  they  will  probably 
have  their  day  as  people  become  conscious  to  themselves 
of  what  that  movement  of  mind  is,  and  interested  in  the 
literary  productions  which  reflect  it.  It  might  be  fairly 
urged  that  I  have  less  poetical  sentiment  than  Tennyson, 
and  less  intellectual  vigor  and  abundance  than  Browning; 
yet,  because  I  have  more  of  a  fusion  of  the  two  than 
either  of  them,  and  have  more  regularly  apphed  that 
fusion  to  the  main  line  of  modern  development,  I  am 
likely  enough  to  have  my  turn,  as  they  have  had  theirs." 
His  poems  are  lacking  in  the  quality  of  spontaneity  or  in- 
evitableness.  Few  of  them  have  the  stamp  of  mek)dious 
perfection.  They  frequently  exhibit  subtlety  of  thought 
and  delicacy  of  feeling ;  but  the  conscious,  restrained 
effort  is  nearly  always  discernible.  His  narrative  poems, 
particularly  "  Sohrab  and  Rustum  "  and  "  Balder,"  reflect, 
in  their  clearness  and  dignity  of  style,  the  poet's  studies 
in  Homer.  Both  are  admirable  poems.  The  closing 
paragraph  of  the  former,  a  few  lines  of  which  follow, 
has  been  justly  admired:  — 

"  For  many  a  league 
The  shorn  and  parcelled  Oxus  strains  along 
Through  beds  of  sand  and  matted  rushy  isles,  — 
Oxus,  forgetting  the  bright  speed  he  had 


646  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

In  his  high  mountain  cradle  in  Pamere, 

A  foiled  circuitous  wanderer,  —  till  at  last 

The  longed-for  dash  of  waves  is  heard,  and  wide 

His  luminous  home  of  waters  opens,  bright 

And  tranquil,  from  whose  floor  the  new-bathed  stars 

Emerge,  and  shine  upon  the  Aral  sea." 

In  "Resignation"  Arnold  gives  expression  to  his  con- 
ception of  the  poetic  character  :-;- 

"  Deeper  the  poet  feels  ;  but  he 
Breathes,  when  he  will,  immortal  air. 
In  the  day's  life,  whose  iron  round 
Hems  us  all  in,  he  is  not  bound; 
He  leaves  his  kind,  o'erleaps  their  pen, 
And  flees  the  common  life  of  men. 
He  escapes  thence,  but  we  abide. 
Not  deep  the  poet  sees,  but  wide." 

The  prevailing  tone  of  his  poetry  is  sad.  He  had  a 
strong  sense  of  fate  and  sorrow  in  human  life.  In  the  lit- 
tle poem  "  A  Question,"  the  sad  and  tragic  side  of  life  finds 
beautiful  expression  :  — 

"Joy  comes  and  goes,  hope  ebbs  and  flows 
Like  the  wave ; 
Change  doth  unknit  the  tranquil  strength  of  men. 
Love  lends  life  a  little  grace, 
A  few  sad  smiles  ;  and  then 
Both  are  laid  in  one  cold  place,  — 
In  the  grave." 


&' 


The  poet  felt  keenly  the  unsettled  conditions  and  beliefs 
of  our  epoch  of  change  and  transition.  In  "The  Future," 
a  poem  that  treats  of  the  destiny  of  man,  we  read  :  — 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD.  647 

"  This  tract  which  the  river  of  Time 
Now  flows  through  with  us,  is  the  plain. 
Gone  is  the  calm  of  its  earlier  shore. 
Bordered  by  cities,  and  hoarse 
With  a  thousand  cries  is  its  stream. 
And  we  on  its  breast,  our  minds 
Are  confused  as  the  sounds  which  we  hear, 
Changing  and  short  as  the  sights  which  we  see." 

We  find  a  similar  strain  in  "  The  Grande  Chartreuse  "  :  — 

"  Achilles  ponders  in  his  tent, 
The  kings  of  modern  thought  are  dumb ; 
Silent  they  are,  though  not  content, 
And  wait  to  see  the  future  come. 
They  have  the  grief  men  had  of  yore, 
But  they  contend  and  cry  no  more." 

In  Arnold's  poems  there  are  but  few  of  those  felicitous 
phrases  or  passages  that  become  popular  quotations.  In 
addition  to  the  poems  already  mentioned,  the  following  are 
worthy  of  note  :  "  Stagirius,"  "  Human  Life,"  "  In  Utrum- 
que  Paratus,"  "Dover  Beach,"  "Lines  Written  in  Ken- 
sington Gardens,"  "The  Scholar  Gypsy,"  "Memorial 
Verses,"  and  "  Obermann." 

Arnold's  poetry,  though  never  widely  popular,  early 
established  his  reputation  as  a  poet;  and  in  1857  he  was 
elected  Professor  of  Poetry  at  Oxford  —  a  position  he  held 
for  ten  years.  His  lectures  there,  in  which  he  first  appears 
as  a  critic,  were  received  with  favor.  In  1861  appeared 
his  work  "On  Translating  Homer,"  an  admirable  piece  of 
suggestive  criticism.  He  pointed  out  as  the  four  chief  char- 
acteristics of  the  Greek  poet  his  rapidity,  his  directness  of 
thought  and  expression,  his  simplicity  of  matter  and  ideas, 


648  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

and  his  nobleness  of  manner.  These  qualities  the  transla- 
tor, he  maintains,  ought  to  reproduce.  The  leading  Eng- 
lish translations  are  tested  by  these  principles  and  found 
wanting.  Many  illustrative  passages  make  the  discussion 
clear  and  convincing.  "  Cowper  renders  him  ill  because 
he  is  slow  in  his  movement  and  elaborate  in  his  style  ; 
Pope  renders  him  ill  because  he  is  artificial  both  in  his  style 
and  in  his  words ;  Chapman  renders  him  ill  because  he  is 
fantastic  in  his  ideas  ;  Mr.  Newman  renders  him  ill  because 
he  is  odd  in  his  words  and  ignoble  in  his  manner." 

Arnold  holds  that  hexameter  is  the  best  metre  for 
rendering  Homer.  The  prejudices  at  present  existing 
against  hexameter  will  sooner  or  later  pass  away.  He  is  not 
satisfied  with  precept  alone ;  and  to  illustrate  his  critical 
principles  he  translates  several  passages  himself.  The  ad- 
dress of  Zeus  to  the  horses  of  Achilles,  Pope  renders  in  the 
following  manner,  which  Arnold  condemns  as  artificial  :  — 

"  Nor  Jove  disdained  to  cast  a  pitying  look 
While  thus  relenting  to  the  steeds  he  spoke : 
'  Unhappy  coursers  of  immortal  strain! 
Exempt  from  age  and  deathless  now  in  vain ; 
Did  we  your  race  on  mortal  man  bestow 
Only,  alas  !  to  share  in  mortal  woe?'" 

This  passage  Arnold  turns  into  hexameter  more  literally 
as  follows :  — 

"  And  with  pity  the  son  of  Saturn  saw  them  bewailing, 
And  he  shook  his  head,  and  thus  addressed  his  own  bosom : 
'  Ah,  unhappy  pair,  to  Peleus  why  did  we  give  you, 
To  a  mortal?  but  ye  are  without  old  age  and  immortal. 
Was  it  that  ye,  with  man,  might  have  your  thousands  of  sorrows? 
For  than  man,  indeed,  there  breathes  no  wretcheder  creature, 
Of  all  living  things,  that  on  earth  are  breathing  and  moving." 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD.  64^ 

Arnold  always  bore  adverse  criticism  with  equanimity 
and  good  humor.  His  views  on  translating  Homer  were 
attacked  in  the  Saturday  Review ;  and  writing  to  his 
mother  about  the  article,  he  says  :  "  When  first  I  read  a 
thing  of  this  kind,  I  am  annoyed ;  then  I  think  how 
certainly  in  two  or  three  days  the  effect  of  it  upon  me 
will  have  wholly  passed  off;  then  I  begin  to  think  of  the 
openings  it  gives  for  observations  in  answer,  and  from 
that  moment,  when  a  free  activity  of  the  spirit  is  restored, 
my  gayety  and  good  spirits  return,  and  the  article  is 
simply  an  object  of  interest  to  me.  To  be  able  to  feel 
thus,  one  must  not  have  committed  oneself  on  subjects 
for  which  one  has  no  vocation,  but  must  be  on  ground 
where  one  feels  at  home  and  secure  —  that  is  the  great 
secret  of  good  humor." 

In  1865  appeared  his  "Essays  in  Criticism,"  a  volume 
chiefly  noted  for  its  first  chapter  on  the  function  of  criti- 
cism. Arnold  was  more  than  a  mere  literary  artist ; 
beneath  all  his  writings,  however  urbane  in  manner, 
there  is  a  serious  purpose.  He  made  criticism  mean  much 
more  than  the  inglorious  art  of  finding  fault  or  of  dis- 
playing the  critic's  learning.  "  Its  business  is,"  he  says, 
"  simply  to  know  the  best  that  is  known  and  thought  in 
the  world,  and  by  in  its  turn  making  this  known,  to  create 
a  current  of  true  and  fresh  ideas."  Or,  as  he  more  briefly 
defines  it  elsewhere,  criticism  is  "  a  disinterested  endeavor 
to  learn  and  propagate  the  best  that  is  known  and  thought 
in  the  world."  This  places  criticism  on  a  high  plane, 
and  makes  of  the  competent  critic  an  inspiring  teacher 
and  guide. 

Arnold  was  a  true  patriot.     Though  he  recognized  the 


650  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

superiority  of  the  French  in  ideas,  and  of  the  Germans  in 
learning,  his  heart  was  always  with  his  own  people.  But 
he  recognized  their  faults, — their  narrowness,  their  inac- 
cessibility to  new  ideas,  and  their  absorbing  interest  in 
material  things.  He  described  his  literary  work  as  an 
effort  "  to  pull  out  a  few  more  stops  in  that  powerful 
but  at  present  somewhat  narrow-toned  organ,  the  mod- 
ern Englishman."  He  sought  to  promote  in  England  a 
higher  type  of  civilization  —  a  type  that  rises  above  sor- 
did, material  interests  into  the  region  of  ideas.  "  Man 
is  civilized,"  he  said,  "when  the  whole  body  of  society 
comes  to  live  with  a  life  worthy  to  be  called  Jiumane,  and 
corresponding  to  man's  true  aspirations  and  powers." 

In  promoting  his  purpose  he  did  not  use  the  methods 
of  a  stern,  logical  thinker.  He  frequently  referred,  with 
playful,  ironic  self-depreciation,  to  Frederic  Harrison's 
criticism  that  he  was  without  a  "philosophy  with  coherent, 
interdependent,  subordinate,  and  derivative  principles."  It 
was  not  in  his  nature  to  dispute  very  obstinately  in  behalf 
of  his  opinions.  He  followed  a  lighter,  literary  method, 
which  gently  tries  to  approach  truth  on  one  side  after 
another.  "He  who  will  do  nothing  but  fight  impetuously 
toward  the  Goddess,"  he  said,  "  on  his  own,  one,  favorite, 
particular  line,  is  inevitably  destined  to  run  his  head  into 
the  folds  of  the  black  robe  in  which  she  is  wrapped." 

The  volume  entitled  "Culture  and  Anarchy,"  which  was 
published  in  1869,  is  one  of  his  most  characteristic  works. 
It  furnished  most  of  the  words  —  "culture,"  "sweetness 
and  light,"  "Philistine,"  "Barbarian,"  "Hebraism  and 
Hellenism"  —  with  which  his  name  and  message  are 
associated.     To  understand  these  terms,  as  he  used  them. 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD.  65  I 

is  to  possess,  in  large  measure,  the  secret  of  Arnold. 
They  embody  the  ideas  that  are  constantly  recurring  in 
his  works. 

What  does  he  mean  by  culture .-'  Not  a  smattering,  as 
Mr.  Bright  declared,  of  Latin  and  Greek,  nor  an  empty 
book-learning  that  unfits  a  man  for  the  commonplace 
duties  of  life.  Arnold  used  the  word  ailtiire  in  a  noble 
sense.  He  defined  it  as  "  a  pursuit  of  our  total  perfec- 
tion by  means  of  getting  to  know,  on  all  matters  that  most 
concern  us,  the  best  which  has  been  thought  and  said  in 
the  world."  The  aim  of  culture  is  "  sweetness  and  light," 
which  are  identified  with  "  reason  and  the  will  of  God." 

To  the  great  middle  class  of  England  Arnold  applied 
the  German  term  Philistine,  by  which  he  meant  a  strong, 
stolid,  unenlightened  opponent  of  the  children  of  light. 
To  the  nobility  he  gave  the  name  Barbarian,  by  which  he 
meant  to  indicate,  in  spite  of  outward  graces,  the  lack  of 
real  refinement  of  soul.  "  Philistine,"  he  says,  "gives  the 
notion  of  something  particularly  stiff-necked  and  perverse 
in  the  resistance  to  light  and  its  children  ;  and  therein  it 
specially  suits  our  middle  class,  who  not  only  do  not  pur- 
sue sweetness  and  light,  but  who  even  prefer  to  them  that 
sort  of  machinery  of  business,  chapels,  tea  meetings,  and 
addresses  from  Mr.  Murphy,  which  makes  up  the  dismal 
and  illiberal  life  on  which  I  have  so  often  touched.  But 
the  aristocratic  class  has  actually,  in  its  well-known  polite- 
ness, a  kind  of  image  or  shadow  of  sweetness ;  and  as  for 
light,  if  it  does  not  pursue  light,  it  is  not  that  it  perversely 
cherishes  some  dismal  and  illiberal  existence  in  preference 
to  light,  but  it  is  lured  off  from  following  light  by  those 
mighty    and    eternal  seducers  of    our  race  which   weave 


652  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

for  this  class  their  most  irresistible  charms,  —  by  worldly 
splendor,  security,  power  and  pleasure.  .  .  .  Keeping  this 
in  view,  I  have  in  my  own  mind  often  indulged  myself 
with  the  fancy  of  employing,  in  order  to  designate  our 
aristocratic  class,  the  name  of  TJie  Barbarians ^ 

Two  great  tendencies  in  human  life  he  designated  as 
Hellenism  and  Hebraism.  Both  aim  at  human  perfec- 
tion, but  along  different  paths.  Hellenism  lays  stress  on 
intellectual  culture ;  Hebraism  on  moral  culture.  "  The 
uppermost  idea  with  Hellenism,"  he  says,  "  is  to  see  things 
as  they  really  are  ;  the  uppermost  idea  with  Hebraism  is 
conduct  and  obedience."  These  tendencies  are  not  exclu- 
sive of  each  other,  though  a  severe  conflict  is  now  going 
on  between  them.  "Hebraism  at  its  best,"  he  says,  "is 
beauty  and  charm  ;  Hellenism  at  its  best  is  also  beauty 
and  charm.  As  such  they  can  unite.  .  .  .  Both  are  emi- 
nently humane,  and  for  complete  human  perfection  both 
are  required  ;  the  first  being  the  perfection  of  that  side 
in  us  which  is  moral  and  acts ;  the  second,  of  that  side  in 
us  which  is  intelligential  and  perceives  and  knows." 

Arnold  was  at  heart  deeply  religious.  Though  in  his 
writings  on  religion  —  "  St.  Paul  and  Protestantism  "  (1870), 
"  Literature  and  Dogma  "  (1873),  and  "  God  and  the  Bible  " 
(1875) — he  strongly  assailed  some  current  theological 
teachings,  he  firmly  believed  in  God  and  the  moral  gov- 
ernment of  the  world.  He  stoutly  resisted  the  encroach- 
ments of  materialism  and  unbelief.  His  definition  of  God 
as  "  the  enduring  power,  not  ourselves,  which  makes  for 
righteousness,"  is  well-known.  Religion  he  defines  as 
"  that  which  binds  and  holds  us  to  the  practice  of  right- 
eousness."    He  places  much  stress  on  what  he  calls  "the 


MATTHEW  ARXOLD.  653 

secret  and  method  of  Jesus,"  that  is,  inward  piety  and 
sweet  reasonableness. 

Though  he  rejected  the  miraculous  element  of  the  New 
Testament,  he  upheld  the  moral  teachings  of  Christ.  He 
defended  St.  Paul  against  Renan.  In  Christ  and  his  teach- 
ings he  found  the  permanent  ideal  of  humanity.  "  Jesus 
Christ  and  his  precepts,"  he  said,  "  are  found  to  hit  the 
moral  experience  of  mankind,  to  hit  it  in  the  critical 
points,  to  hit  it  lastingly  ;  and,  when  doubts  are  thrown 
upon  their  hitting  it,  then  to  come  out  stronger  than  ever." 
In  the  presence  of  growing  disbelief,  he  said  :  "  I  believe 
that  Christianity  will  survive  because  of  its  natural  truth. 
Those  who  fancied  that  they  had  done  with  it,  those  who 
had  throvv^n  it  aside  because  what  was  presented  to  them 
under  its  name  was  so  unreceivable,  will  have  to  return 
to  it  again  and  learn  it  better."  And  over  against  the 
pessimism  of  Schopenhauer,  he  avows  his  conviction  that 
"  human  life  is  a  blessing  and  a  benefit,  and  constantly 
improvable,  because  in  self-renouncement  is  a  fount  of 
joy,  'springing  up  into  everlasting  life.'  " 

In  the  fall  of  1883  Arnold  visited  America  and  spent 
some  months  in  lecturing  in  the  principal  cities.  He  was 
cordially  received,  and  his  letters  show  a  warm  apprecia- 
tion of  American  life  and  American  character.  He  was 
struck  with  "the  universal  enjoyment  and  good  nature." 
But  he  missed  the  English  love  of  quiet  and  criticised  the 
general  restlessness  and  love  of  publicity.  "  It  is  very 
fatiguing,"  he  wrote  ;  "  I  thank  God,  it  only  confirms  me 
in  the  desire  'to  hide  my  life,'  as  the  Greek  philosopher 
recommended,  as  much  as  possible."  The  lectures  he 
delivered,  three  in  number,  are  contained  in  the  volume 


654  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

entitled  "  Discourses  in  America."  They  are,  for  the  most 
part,  restatements  in  refined,  popular  form  of  the  critical 
and  social  teachings  found  in  his  other  writings.  The 
most  interesting  of  the  lectures  is  the  one  on  "  Emerson," 
in  the  opening  pages  of  which  his  style  reaches  the  high- 
est point  of  lyrical  beauty  and  eloquence.  It  must  be 
said,  however,  that  he  does  the  transcendental  poet  and 
philosopher  scant  justice.  He  thought  well  of  these  "  Dis- 
courses in  America,"  and  said,  shortly  before  his  death, 
that  it  "  was  the  book  by  which,  of  all  his  prose  writings, 
he  should  most  wish  to  be  remembered." 

There  is  not  space  to  speak  of  Arnold's  other  writ- 
ings, the  most  interesting  of  which  is  a  second  series  of 
"Essays  in  Criticism,"  published  in  1888.  It  contains  a 
valuable  chapter  on  "  The  Study  of  Poetry "  and  criti- 
cal reviews  of  Milton,  Gray,  Keats,  Wordsworth,  Byron, 
Shelley,  and  others.  He  had  now  well-nigh  reached  the 
allotted  age  of  man,  and  March  15,  1888,  he  suddenly  died 
at  Liverpool,  whither  he  had  gone  to  welcome  his  daugh- 
ter on  her  arrival  from  America.  "  To  have  known  him," 
says  a  friend,  "  to  have  loved  him,  to  have  had  a  place  in 
his  regard,  is  — 

'  Part  of  our  life's  unalterable  good.' " 

As  we  review  the  leading  points  in  Arnold's  criticism, 
on  which  his  fame  must  chiefly  rest,  we  are  impressed 
with  his  Hmitations.  His  attainments  were  neither  of  the 
widest  nor  profoundest.  What,  then,  has  been  the  secret 
of  his  popularity  .''  First  of  all  his  style,  though  a  little 
too  self-conscious  and  overrefined,  is  winning  and  lucid. 
There  is  never  any  difficulty  in  understanding  what  he  is 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD.  655 

driving  at,  and  he  labels  his  principal  points  with  a  telling 
word  or  phrase.  Besides  this,  he  preserved  at  all  times 
an  unruffled  sweetness  of  temper.  Even  in  his  most  re- 
fined cruelty  he  exhibits  a  charming  urbanity.  But  most 
of  all,  he  had  a  real  message  to  the  Enghsh  people.  He 
earnestly  exhorted  them  to  mingle  with  the  pursuit  of  gain 
the  sweetness  and  hght  of  genuine  culture.  The  self-con- 
fidence or  dogmatism  often  apparent  in  his  manner  did 
not  rise  from  an  offensive  egotism.  The  explanation  is  to 
be  found  in  his  preface  to  "  St.  Paul  and  Protestantism." 
In  what  he  wrote  he  believed  himself  to  be  an  organ  for 
that  mighty  collective  tendency  which  we  call  the  spirit 
of  the  age.  Whoever  looks  upon  himself  in  this  light, 
necessarily  speaks  "as  one  having  authority." 


656  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 


JOHN   RUSKIN. 

The  restless  genius  of  John  Ruskin  has  led  him  into 
many  fields  of  thought.  He  has  been  an  artist,  art  critic, 
author,  moralist,  sociologist,  reformer.  He  has  not  been 
equally  great  in  all  these  spheres  of  activity,  but  he  has 
everywhere  been  animated  by  the  same  valiant  and  unself- 
ish love  of  truth.  His  opinions  are  not  always  safe  or 
consistent,  and  many  of  his  social  ideas  are  strangely  im- 
practicable; but  whatever  he  has  said  or  advocated,  has 
come  from  the  depths  of  a  heroic  sincerity. 

In  their  ardor  for  truth  and  righteousness  there  was  a 
warm  sympathy  between  Ruskin  and  Carlyle.  Their  ad- 
miration was  mutual.  Ruskin  called  Carlyle  master  ;  and 
Carlyle  in  return  lauds  Ruskin's  divine  ardor  against  un- 
righteousness. In  a  letter  to  Emerson,  the  sage  of  Chelsea 
writes  :  "  There  is  nothing  going  on  among  us  as  notable 
to  me  as  those  fierce  lightning  bolts  Ruskin  is  copiously 
and  desperately  pouring  into  the  black  world  of  anarchy 
all  around  him.  No  other  man  in  England  that  I  meet 
has  in  him  the  divine  rage  against  iniquity,  falsity,  and 
baseness  that  Ruskin  has,  and  that  every  man  ought  to 
have."  Yet  there  is  a  marked  difference  between  these 
two  great  teachers.  The  feminine  te»derness  and  inex- 
tinguishable hopefulness  of  Ruskin  stand  in  marked  con- 
trast with  the  viking  fierceness  and  intolerant  pessimism 
of  Carlyle. 


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JOHN  RUSK  IN.  657 

John  Ruskin  was  born  in  London,  Feb.  8,  1819.  His 
death  occurred  at  Brantwood,  Jan.  20,  1900.  His  father, 
a  wine-merchant,  united  to  a  sound,  practical  judgment  an 
unusual  artistic  and  hterary  taste.  He  painted  in  water- 
colors  ;  and  after  the  business  cares  of  the  day  were  over, 
he  was  accustomed  to  read  aloud  to  the  family  the  stand- 
ard English  authors.  The  legend  on  his  tomb  says : 
"  He  was  an  entirely  honest  merchant,  and  his  memory 
is  to  all  who  keep  it  dear  and  helpful.  His  son, 
whom  he  loved  to  the  uttermost,  and  taught  to  speak  the 
truth,  says  this  of  him."  Ruskin's  mother  was  a  pious; 
practical,  aspiring  woman,  who  ruled  her  household  with 
diligent  strictness.  Both  parents  were  Scotch  and  trans- 
mitted to  their  son  the  courage  and  enthusiasm  character- 
istic of  the  Celtic  temperament. 

Ruskin's  early  training  lacked  sympathy  and  tender- 
ness. He  was  denied  the  usual  playthings  of  children 
and  thrown  almost  entirely  on  his  own  resources  for 
amusement.  Thus  he  learned  to  observe  closely  the 
things  about  him,  —  the  pattern  of  the  carpet,  the  scenes 
from  the  window,  the  forms  of  flower  and  leaf  in  the 
garden.  His  father  and  mother  seemed  to  stand  at  a 
vast  distance  above  him,  like  the  forces  of  nature.  When 
he  was  seven  years  old,  as  he  tells  us,  he  was,  in  large 
measure,  mentally  independent  of  his  parents,  and 
"  began  to  lead  a  very  small,  perky,  contented,  conceited, 
Cock-Robinson-Crusoe  sort  of  life." 

The  moral  sense  of  Ruskin  was  acute  and  strong.  His 
parents  intended  him  for  the  church.  It  was  a  matter 
of  deep  regret  to  his  father  that  he  turned  aside  to   art 

and  authorship.     When  a  friend  once  remarked  that  an 
2  N 


658  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

amiable  clergyman  had  thus  been  lost,  his  father  replied 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  "  Yes,  he  would  have  been  a 
bishop."  As  frequently  happens,  he  was  encouraged  to 
preach  as  a  child.  One  of  his  sermons  has  been  handed 
down,  and  is  remarkable  as  containing  the  substance  of 
a  large  part  of  his  subsequent  teaching :  "  People,  be 
dood.  If  you  are  dood,  Dod  will  love  you.  If  you  are 
not  dood,  Dod  will  not  love  you.  People,  be  dood." 
This  sermon  he  mentions  in  his  autobiography  as  ex- 
emplary in  brevity  and  in  doctrine. 

His  mother  held  him  inexorably  to  a  long  and  careful 
study  of  the  Bible.  This  training,  though  often  painful 
to  him  at  the  time,  he  regarded  late  in  hfe  as  the  most 
precious  part  of  his  education.  "  My  mother  forced  me," 
he  says  in  "  Praeterita,"  "by  steady  daily  toil,  to  learn 
long  chapters  of  the  Bible  by  heart ;  as  well  as  to  read 
it  every  syllable  through  aloud,  hard  names  and  all,  from 
Genesis  to  the  Apocalypse,  about  once  a  year ;  and  to  that 
discipline  —  patient,  accurate,  and  resolute — -I  owe,  not 
only  a  knowledge  of  the  book,  which  I  find  occasionally 
serviceable,  but  much  of  my  general  power  of  taking  pains, 
and  the  best  part  of  my  taste  in  literature."  No  other 
recent  writer  has  made  so  many  references  to  biblical 
incident  and  so  many  applications  of  biblical  truth. 

Ruskin's  childhood  travels  were  an  important  influence 
in  his  early  development.  His  father  travelled  for  orders 
two  or  three  months  every  summer.  Accompanied  by 
his  wife  and  son,  he  travelled  leisurely  in  his  post-chaise, 
and  lost  no  opportunity  to  visit  places  of  interest.  In 
this  way  the  young  Ruskin,  before  he  had  reached  his 
teens,   had  become  acquainted  with  the  towns,   country- 


JOHN  RUSK  IN.  659 

seats,  and  natural  scenery  of  nearly  all  England,  Wales, 
and  the  lowlands  of  Scotland.  With  powers  of  observa- 
tion keenly  active,  he  laid  up  considerable  stores  of  infor- 
mation, and  in  his  diaries  began  to  exercise  himself  in 
accurate  and  brilliant  description,  which  not  a  few  regard 
as  the  greatest  merit  of  his  subsequent  writings. 

The  thirst  of  authorship  laid  hold  of  Ruskin  with  un- 
usual violence.  He  was  encouraged  in  composition  by 
his  parents,  who  paid  him  at  the  rate  of  a  penny  for 
twenty  lines.  Nourished  on  Scott  and  Pope,  to  whom  he 
has  always  remained  loyal,  he  wrote  both  prose  and  poe- 
try with  equal  facility.  Before  he  was  ten  years  of  age, 
he  wrote  several  volumes,  illustrating  them  with  appropri- 
ate drawings.  His  poetry,  ambitious  in  scope  and  style, 
clearly  shows  the  influence  of  Pope.  Though  he  contin- 
ued to  write  verse  for  many  years,  he  was  not  a  poet,  and 
finally  perceived,  to  use  his  own  words,  that  "  he  could 
express  nothing  rightly  in  that  manner." 

Without  attending  school,  Ruskin 's  education  was  going 
on  apace.  He  was  taught  Latin,  Greek,  French,  and 
mathematics  by  excellent  private  tutors.  He  took  lessons 
in  drawing,  in  which  he  made  astonishing  progress.  On 
his  thirteenth  birthday  he  received  a  copy  of  Rogers's 
"  Italy,"  which  had  been  illustrated  by  Turner.  This  gift, 
as  he  thought,  determined  the  main  tenor  of  his  life. 
Filled  with  admiration  of  Turner's  drawings,  he  accepted 
them  as  exclusive  models.  Then  followed  a  family  trip 
to  the  Continent,  during  which  France,  Germany,  Switzer- 
land, and  Italy  were  visited.  Everywhere  the  ardent  young 
artist  was  busy  with  pen  and  pencil,  accumulating  materials 
for  a  work  which,  in  a  few  years,  would  startle  the  cultured 


66o  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

circles  of  England,  and  exert  no  small  influence  on  the 
taste  and  art  of  the  English  people. 

Ruskin  passionately  loved  the  mountains.  As  a  boy  of 
fourteen  he  wrote  :  — 

"  There  is  a  thrill  of  strange  delight 
That  passes  quivering  o'er  me. 
When  blue  hills  rise  upon  the  sight, 
Like  summer  clouds  before  me." 

At  Schaffhausen  he  was  thrilled  with  his  first  view  of 
the  Alps,  to  the  forms  and  structure  of  which  he  subse- 
quently devoted  so  much  fond  and  patient  study.  The 
impression  of  this  first  view  was  never  forgotten,  and  in 
his  autobiography  the  scene  is  vividly  recalled.  "The 
Alps,"  he  says,  "were  clear  as  crystal,  sharp  in  the  pure 
horizon  sky,  and  already  tinged  with  rose  by  the  sinking 
sun.  Infinitely  beyond  all  that  we  had  ever  thought  or 
dreamed  —  the  seen  walls  of  lost  Eden  could  not  have 
been  more  beautiful  to  us  ;  not  more  awful,  round  heaven, 
the  walls  of  sacred  Death."  This  sight  of  the  Alps  was 
a  new  revelation  to  him  of  the  beauty  of  the  earth,  the 
proclamation  of  which  he  joyfully  recognized  as  a  part 
of  his  mission  to  men. 

Ruskin  was  a  worshipper  of  nature.  Every  natural 
object  had  a  peculiar  charm  for  him.  With  equal  delight 
he  studied  the  graceful  curvings  of  the  blades  of  grass, 
the  terrific  approach  and  passing  of  the  storm,  and  the 
tumultuous  sublimity  of  the  surging  ocean.  No  other 
writer  has  had  a  richer  insight  into  the  hidden  beauties 
of  nature,  or  pointed  out  its  charms  in  diviner  language. 
Unhke  Carlyle,  who  esteemed  the  world  a  waste  without 


JOHN  RUSK  IN.  66 1 

human  affection,  he  found  a  genuine  and  satisfying  com- 
panionship in  mountain,  wood,  and  stream.  These  were 
to  him  sources  of  perpetual  inspiration  and  instruction  — 
"the  light  of  all  that  he  rightly  learned." 

In  1836  he  matriculated  at  Christ  Church,  Oxford,  as  a 
gentleman-commoner.  His  genius  and  amiability  won 
him  the  respect  of  his  aristocratic  associates,  several  of 
whom  afterward  became  quite  distinguished.  His  moral 
life  was  innocently  exemplary ;  for,  as  he  records,  he  had 
never  touched  a  card,  looked  upon  dice  with  horror,  and 
had  no  taste  for  hunting  or  racing.  The  historic  buildings 
interested  him.  The  ancient  languages,  in  which  he 
never  attained  scholarly  proficiency,  he  studied,  not  for 
their  grammar,  but  their  literature.  He  became  quite 
proficient  in  mathematics  and  interested  himself  in  natural 
science,  to  which  the  university  was  just  beginning  to 
accord  some  recognition.  His  skill  in  English  composition 
early  made  itself  recognized,  and,  after  two  unsuccessful 
efforts,  he  won  the  prize  in  poetry. 

In  his  autobiography  he  gives  an  amusing  account  of 
an  essay  which  he  was  appointed  to  read  before  the  body 
of  students.  The  incident  throws  light  on  the  university 
life  of  the  time.  He  was  an  excellent  reader  and  ac- 
quitted himself  to  his  entire  satisfaction.  He  descended 
from  the  rostrum  to  receive,  as  he  confidently  expected, 
the  thanks  of  the  gentlemen-commoners,  whom  he  felt  he 
had  so  creditably  represented.  But  he  was  cruelly  unde- 
ceived. "Not  in  envy,  truly,"  he  says,  "but  in  fiery 
disdain,  varied  in  expression  through  every  form  and 
majiner  of  English  language,  they  explained  to  me  that 
I  had  committed  grossest  Icse  luajeste  against  the    order 


662  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

of  gentlemen-commoners ;  that  no  gentleman-commoner's 
essay  ought  ever  to  contain  more  than  twelve  lines,  with 
four  words  in  each ;  and  that,  even  indulging  to  my  folly, 
and  conceit,  and  want  of  savoir-faire,  the  impropriety  of 
writing  an  essay  with  any  meaning  in  it,  like  vulgar 
students,  —  the  thoughtlessness  and  audacity  of  writing 
one  that  would  take  at  least  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  read, 
and  then  reading  it  all,  might  for  this  once  be  forgiven 
to  such  a  greenhorn,  but  that  Coventry  wasn't  the  word 
for  the  place  I  should  be  sent  to  if  ever  I  did  such  a  thing 
again." 

Though  some  of  his  previous  writings  had  found  their 
way  into  print,  Ruskin's  literary  career  properly  began, 
while  an  undergraduate  at  Oxford,  with  "  The  Poetry  of 
Architecture."  It  consisted  of  a  series  of  articles  con- 
tributed to  Loudon's  Ardiitectiiral  Magazine  under  the 
nom  de  plume  of  "  Kata  Phusin  "  — according  to  nature  — 
which  indicates  their  standpoint.  It  is  a  discussion  of 
cottage  and  villa  architecture  in  England,  France,  Switzer- 
land, and  Italy,  for  which  his  frequent  journeys  and  well- 
filled  sketch-books  supplied  abundant  materials.  He 
regarded  architecture  in  England  as  at  a  low  ebb.  The 
work,  certainly  a  remarkable  production  for  an  under- 
graduate, exhibited  in  no  small  degree  the  tone  and 
principles  of  his  later  works  on  the  same  subject. 

In  1842,  after  finishing  his  course  at  the  university, 
and  making  another  studious  tour  on  the  Continent, 
Ruskin  began  his  career  as  a  critic  of  art.  His 
attainments  were  extraordinary  for  a  young  man  of 
twenty-three.  Stimulated  by  Carlyle's  "  Heroes  and 
Hero-Worship,"    he   was   ready  to  attempt  a  noteworthy 


JOHX  RUSK  IN.  663 

achievement  in  art.  An  occasion  was  not  lacking. 
Turner  had  been  attacked  as  untrue  to  nature ;  and 
with  a  truly  chivalrous  spirit,  the  young  enthusiast 
championed  the  cause  of  his  master.  The  result  was 
the  "  Modern  Painters,"  the  first  volume  of  which  ap- 
peared early  in    1843. 

The  work  created  a  storm.  It  boldly  attacked  popular 
favorites ;  it  set  at  defiance  the  conventional  principles  of 
art ;  it  preached  fidelity  to  nature,  not  only  in  its  outward 
forms,  but  in  its  invisible  spirit.  It  was  confident  and 
intolerant  in  tone.  Yet  it  was  written  with  such  fulness 
of  knowledge  and  such  eloquence  of  description  that,  in 
spite  of  its  iconoclastic  audacity,  it  was  widely  read.  It 
was  attacked,  but  not  refuted.  Before  the  fifth  and  last 
volume  appeared,  seventeen  years  later,  the  "  Modern 
Painters "  had  profoundly  influenced  popular  taste,  in 
large  measure  hushed  the  hostile  criticism  of  Turner,  and 
in  fact  created  a  new  era  in  the  art  criticism  of  Ensrland. 

Ruskin's  knowledge  of  art  broadened  and  deepened. 
Other  trips  to  the  Continent  gave  him  an  opportunity  to 
"  walk  with  Nature "  among  the  Alps.  In  Italy  he  be- 
came enamoured  of  Christian  art  and  studied  some  of  the 
"  old  masters,"  particularly  Angelico  and  Tintoret.  with 
absorbing  enthusiasm.  He  was  always  discovering  some 
great,  forgotten  artist.  During  the  winter  of  1845  he 
wrote  the  second  volume  of  "  Modern  Painters,"  to  ex- 
pound the  nature  of  beauty,  and  to  explain  the  old  Flor- 
entine and  Venetian  schools  of  painting.  Though  the 
most  philosophical  of  all  his  writings,  it  abounds  in  beau- 
tiful passages.  On  its  publication  Sydney  Smith  set  the 
pace  for  the  critical  world  by  pronouncing  it  a  work  of 


664  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

"transcendent  talent,  presenting  the  most  original  views 
in  the  most  eloquent  and  powerful  language,  which  would 
work  a  complete  revolution  in  the  world  of  taste." 

The  work  of  composition  was  not  to  him,  as  to  Carlyle, 
a  painful  drudgery.  He  went  to  his  work  with  well-filled 
note-books  and  well-defined  ideas.  "  My  literary  work," 
he  tells  us,  "  was  always  done  as  quietly  and  methodically 
as  a  piece  of  tapestry.  I  knew  exactly  what  I  had  got  to 
say,  put  the  words  firmly  in  their  places  like  so  many 
stitches,  hemmed  the  edges  of  chapters  round  with  what 
seemed  to  me  graceful  flourishes,  touched  them  finally 
with  my  cunningest  points  of  color,  and  read  the  work  to 
papa  and  mamma  at  breakfast  the  next  morning,  as  a  girl 
shows  her  sampler."  Tears  of  joy  on  the  cheeks  of  the 
old  people  were  his  usual  reward. 

Ruskin  was  accustomed  to  say  playfully,  yet  half  seri- 
ously, that  Saturn  presided  at  his  birth.  Certainly  an 
untoward  influence  dominated  his  love  affairs  and  domes- 
tic relations.  His  youth  was  not  without  its  romance, 
which  ended  in  disappointment  and  illness.  In  1848  he 
married  a  beautiful  Scotch  maiden,  for  whom,  some  years 
previously,  he  had  written  the  fairy  tale  "The  King  of 
the  Golden  River."  Unfortunately  there  was  no  deep 
affection  on  either  side  ;  and  after  a  half-dozen  discordant 
and  unhappy  years  she  left  him.  Though  the  tongue  of 
scandal  was  not  silent,  his  high-bred  delicacy  has  never 
allowed  him  to  write  a  word  in  defence  of  himself  or  in 
censure  of  others. 

The  year  following  his  ill-starred  marriage  appeared  one 
of  his  most  popular  works,  "  The  Seven  Lamps  of  Archi- 
tecture."   It  points  out  the  close  relation  between  morality 


JOHN  RUSK  IN.  665 

and  art,  and  is  a  noble  plea  for  sincerity  and  truth.  "  How- 
ever mean  or  inconsiderable  the  act,"  he  says,  "  there  is 
something  in  the  well  doing  of  it  which  has  fellowship 
with  the  noblest  forms  of  manly  virtue ;  and  the  truth, 
decision,  and  temperance,  which  we  reverently  regard  as 
honorable  conditions  of  the  spiritual  being,  have  a  repre- 
sentative or  derivative  influence  over  the  works  of  the 
hand,  the  movements  of  the  frame,  and  the  action  of  the 
intellect."  Though  extreme  sometimes  in  the  application 
of  his  principles,  he  is  always  admirable  in  his  zeal  for 
truth. 

The  following  years  were  very  busy  and  fruitful.  Grieved 
at  the  divided  condition  of  Protestantism,  he  wrote  his 
"Notes  on  the  Construction  of  Sheepf  olds  "  (not  a  few 
prosaic  farmers  bought  it  under  a  misapprehension),  in 
which  he  made  a  plea  for  greater  toleration  and  unity  in 
religion.  He  espoused  the  cause  of  the  new  school  of 
painters — Hunt,  Millais,  Collins,  Rossetti  —  who  broke 
away  from  conventionalism  to  return  to  nature.  His  pen 
now  carried  with  it  great  weight.  In  the  face  of  the  ridi- 
cule heaped  on  the  new  school,  he  wrote  a  pamphlet  entitled 
"  Pre-Raphaelitism."  For  several  years  he  was  regarded 
as  the  leader  of  the  Pre-Raphaelites.  But  the  principal 
work  of  this  period  was  "The  Stones  of  Venice,"  the  first 
volume  of  which  appeared  in  1851  and  the  two  remain- 
ing volumes  in  1853.  The  purpose  of  the  book,  for  which 
he  had  made  laborious  studies  in  Venice,  was  to  trace  the 
relation  between  the  architecture  and  the  social  and  reli- 
gious life  of  a  people.  The  principle  is  enunciated — and 
it  runs  through  a  large  part  of  our  author's  writings  —  that 
"  all  art  is  great,  and  good,  and  true,  only  so  far  as  it  is 


666  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

distinctively  the  work  of  nianJiood  in  its  entire  and  highest 
sense." 

After  completing  "  The  Stones  of  Venice,"  Ruskin  en- 
tered a  new  field,  to  which  we  owe  some  of  his  most 
charming  works.  He  became  a  popular  lecturer.  In  the 
fall  of  1853  he  delivered  a  course  of  lectures  before  the 
Philosophical  Society  of  Edinburgh  on  "  Architecture  and 
Painting."  The  lectures  present  in  brief,  popular  form 
the  views  more  fully  expounded  in  his  previous  works. 
He  interspersed  the  reading  of  his  carefully  prepared 
manuscript  with  extemporaneous  comment  in  colloquial 
form  —  the  two  styles  standing  in  somewhat  violent 
contrast. 

The  year  i860  marks  an  important  change  in  Ruskin's 
writings.  With  the  fifth  volume  of  "  Modern  Painters  " 
finished  this  year,  he  closed  his  series  of  great  works 
devoted  to  art.  Now,  at  the  age  of  forty,  life  assumed  for 
him  a  deeper  meaning.  His  horizon  greatly  broadened  ; 
and  in  place  of  an  artist  and  critic,  he  became  an  ethical 
teacher  and  social  reformer.  Henceforth  his  great  re- 
sources of  artistic  knowledge  were  used  chiefly  to  illus- 
trate and  enforce  moral  lessons.  His  sense  of  evil 
deepened,  and  with  prophetic  fervor  he  inveighed  against 
every  form  of  iniquity. 

In  i860  he  wrote  four  essays  on  political  economy, 
which  were  pubUshed  in  the  Coi-nJiill  Magazine.  They 
are  entitled  "Unto  this  Last."  Though  violently  repro- 
bated at  the  time  —  Thackeray  had  to  cut  the  series  short 
—  they  were  regarded  by  their  author  as  "  the  truest, 
rightest-worded,  and  most  serviceable  things"  that  he  had 
written.     They  contain  in  brief  compass   Ruskin's  views 


JOHN  RUSK  IN.  667 

on  social  science.  "  Munera  Pulveris,"  written  a  year 
later,  is  only  a  more  expanded  treatment  of  the  same  sub- 
ject. He  defines  political  economy  as  the  science  "which 
teaches  nations  to  desire  and  labor  for  the  things  that  lead 
to  life,  and  which  teaches  them  to  scorn  and  destroy  the 
things  that  lead  to  destruction."  The  highest  form  of 
wealth  consists,  not  in  accumulating  houses  and  lands,  but 
in  "  producing  as  many  as  possible  full-breathed,  bright- 
eyed,  and  happy-hearted  human  creatures." 

The  most  popular  of  all  Ruskin's  works  is  "  Sesame 
and  Lilies,"  published  in  1864.  It  consists  of  three  lec- 
tures on  reading,  woman's  education,  and  the  mystery  of 
life.  These  lectures  were  written  with  great  earnestness, 
and  are  filled  with  sage  counsel  and  noble  thought.  In 
them  Ruskin  gave  of  his  best.  In  the  last,  which  is  per- 
vaded by  a  pathetic  sadness,  he  declares  the  purpose  of 
life  to  be  service.  "The  greatest  of  all  the  mysteries  of 
life,  and  the  most  terrible,"  he  says,  "is  the  corruption 
of  even  the  sincerest  religion,  which  is  not  founded  on 
rational,  effective,  humble,  and  helpful  action.  Helpful 
action,  observe  !  for  there  is  just  one  law,  which  obeyed, 
keeps  all  religions  pure  —  forgotten,  makes  them  all  false. 
Whenever  in  any  religious  faith,  dark  or  bright,  we  allow 
our  minds  to  dwell  upon  the  points  in  which  we  differ 
from  other  people,  we  are  wrong,  and  in  the  devil's 
power." 

Another  deservedly  popular  work,  which  appeared  the 
year  after  "Sesame  and  Lilies,"  is  "The  Crown  of  Wild 
Olive."  It  is  likewise  made  up  of  lectures,  which  treat 
of  work,  traffic,  and  war.  Two  years  later  appeared 
"  Time  and  Tide,"  a  series  of  twenty-five  letters  to  a  work- 


668  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

ingman,  in  which  Ruskin  expressed  his  views  fully  and 
fearlessly  on  a  variety  of  subjects — cooperation,  content- 
ment, pleasure,  education,  marriage  —  that  he  thought 
might  be  helpful  to  the  laboring  classes  of  England.  It 
should  not  be  passed  over  by  any  one  who  would  under- 
stand his  social  and  ethical  views.  It  sets  forth  an  ideal 
state  of  society,  which  must  wait  yet  a  long  time  for  reali- 
zation. 

Ruskin  was  an  educational  reformer.  Many  views  ad- 
vocated by  him  three  or  four  decades  ago  have  since  been 
adopted  in  the  schools  of  England  and  America.  He 
favored  popular  education  and  emphasized  the  importance 
of  physical  training.  He  argued  for  a  closer  relation  be- 
tween the  courses  of  study  and  the  duties  of  practical  life. 
He  attached  chief  importance  to  the  ethical  element  of 
education,  which  he  defined  as  "  the  leading  human  souls 
to  what  is  best,  and  making  what  is  best  out  of  them."  He 
favored  the  higher  education  of  women,  and  pronounced 
it  foolishly  wrong  to  think  of  her  only  as  "  the  shadow 
and  attendant  image  of  her  lord,  owing  him  a  thoughtless 
and  servile  obedience,  and  supported  altogether  in  her 
weakness  by  the  preeminence  of  his  fortitude." 

The  career  of  our  author  cannot  be  followed  further  in 
detail.  As  long  as  his  health  permitted,  he  continued  to 
lead  the  same  laborious  Hfe.  He  gave  much  time  to  bot- 
any and  geology.  Almost  every  year  he  delivered  lectures 
enough  to  make  a  volume.  In  1869  he  was  elected  Slade 
Professor  of  Fine  Arts  at  Oxford,  a  position  to  which, 
during  the  three  terms  of  his  incumbency,  he  devoted 
much  conscientious  labor.  His  first  course  was  entitled 
"  Lectures  on  Art,"  in  which,  among  other  things,  he  dis- 


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JOHN  RUSK  IN.  669 

cusses  the  relation  of  art  to  religion,  to  morals,  and  to  use. 
This  work  is  noteworthy  as  presenting  his  matured  views 
in  careful  academic  form.  Other  courses  are  called 
"Aratra  PenteHci "  and  "The  Pleasures  of  England." 

In  1 87 1  Ruskin  purchased  a  property  in  the  Lake  Dis- 
trict, known  as  Brantwood,  and  picturesquely  situated  on 
Coniston  Water.  He  fitted  it  up  tastefully  and  lived  there 
until  his  death.  On  its  walls  may  be  seen  choice  engrav- 
ings and  paintings,  —  a  Diirer,  two  or  three  old  Venetian 
heads,  and  Hunts,  Prouts,  and  Turners  in  abundance. 
Here  he  wrote  "  Prseterita,"  an  autobiography  that  brings' 
before  us  the  earher  part  of  his  life  with  wonderful  vivid- 
ness. His  last  years,  so  full  of  varied  and  important 
interests,  have  been  clouded  by  repeated  attacks  of  mental 
disease.  At  last  the  giant  has  been  forced  to  yield  —  the 
zealous  prophet  to  hush  his  voice ;  and,  soothed  by  the 
tenderness  that  reverent  love  inspires,  he  has  answered 
his  summons  home. 

In  forming  an  estimate  of  his  work,  it  must  be  admitted 
that  Ruskin  had  too  much  ardor  to  be  a  judicious  critic. 
He  has  sometimes  allowed  his  affections  or  his  prejudices 
to  sway  his  judgment ;  he  has  sometimes  taken  extreme 
and  untenable  positions.  His  vivid  imagination  has 
showed  only  what  he  wanted  to  see.  While  holding 
many  advanced  or  radical  ideas,  he  has  been  essentially 
a  Tory  and  conservative.  He  had  a  romantic  sympathy 
with  the  Middle  Ages.  He  had  an  unreasonable  preju- 
dice against  America ;  and  his  love  of  art  and  nature  made 
him  unfriendly  to  the  commercial  and  manufacturing 
developments  of  the  century. 

He  had   no  small  share  of  the  eccentricity  of  genius. 


6/0  ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

This  fact  is  seen,  not  only  in  the  impracticable  character 
of  some  of  his  social  reforms,  but  also  in  the  singular 
freaks  in  which  he  sometimes  indulged.  While  a  pro- 
fessor of  fine  arts  at  Oxford  he  took  lessons  in  stone-break- 
ing, and  then  went  with  his  students  to  mend  a  piece  of 
muddy  road.  "  But  the  quite  happiest  bit  of  manual  work 
I  ever  did,"  he  tells  us  in  "  Praeterita,"  "  was  for  my 
mother  in  the  old  inn  at  Sixt,  where  she  alleged  the  stone 
staircase  to  have  become  unpleasantly  dirty  since  last 
year.  Nobody  in  the  inn  appearing  to  think  it  possible 
to  wash  it,  I  brought  the  necessary  buckets  of  water  from 
the  yard  myself,  poured  them  into  beautiful  image  of 
Versailles  water-works  down  the  fifteen  or  twenty  steps 
of  the  great  staircase,  and  with  the  strongest  broom  I 
could  find  cleaned  every  step  into  its  corners.  It  was 
quite  lovely  work  to  dash  the  water  and  drive  the  mud 
from  each,  with  accumulating  splash,  down  to  the  next 
one." 

But  whatever  faults  or  limitations  may  be  discovered  in 
Ruskin,  he  stands  as  one  of  the  great  figures  of  English 
literature  in  the  Victorian  Age.  His  rich  gifts  were 
unselfishly  devoted,  in  many  ways,  to  the  uplifting  and 
advancement  of  his  fellow-men.  Nearly  the  whole  of  his 
inherited  fortune  of  a  milUon  dollars  was  spent  in  benevo- 
lent enterprises  and  in  charity.  In  a  style  unsurpassed 
in  richness  of  diction  and  eloquence  of  form,  he  bravely 
upheld  what  he  regarded  as  truth,  not  only  in  art,  but  also 
in  the  lives  of  men. 


i 


INDEX   TO    MAP. 


Author. 


Addison 

Arnold,  Matthew  . 

Bacon 

Bronte 

Browning,  E.  B. . . 

Browning,  Robert 
Bunyan 

Burns  

Byron 

Carlyle 

Chaucer 

Coleridge 

Cowper 

De  Quincey 

Dickens 

Dryden 

Eliot  

Gibbon  

Goldsmith  

Johnson,  Samuel  . 
Macaulay 

Milton 

Pope  

Ruskin 

Scott  

Shakespeare 

Shelley 

Spenser 

Swift 

Tennyson 

Thackeray 

Wordsworth 


Birthplace  (b). 


Milston. 
Laleham. 
London. 
Thornton. 

Durham. 

London. 
Elstow. 


G- 
I- 
I- 

F- 


Ayr.  C 

London.  I 

Ecclefechan.  E 

London.  I 

Ottery  St.  Mary  D 

Great  Berkhamp-  ) 

tonstead.  j 

Manchester.  F 


Landport.  H- 

Aldwinkle.  1- 

Nuueaton.  G- 


Putney. 


I-i 


Pallas,  Ireland. 
Lichfield.  G-  9 

Rothley  Temple.     H—  8 


London. 
London. 
London. 


Edinburgh.  E- 

Stratford-on-Avon.  G 

Field  Place.  I- 

London.  I- 

Dublin,  Ireland. 

Somersby.  I- 
Calcutta,  India. 

Cockermouth.  E 


—  7 


Abiding-Place  while 
Writing  (1). 


London. 

Harrow. 

St.  Albans. 

Haworth. 

f  London. 

(  Florence,  Italy. 

f  London. 

I  Florence,  Italy. 

Bedford. 

(  Ayrshire. 

■<  Edinburgh. 

(.  Dumfries. 

f  Newstead  Abbey  G 

(  Switzerland  and  Italy 


I-ii 

H-ii 

I-ii 

F-  6 

■-I 

I— ID 
C-2 

E-i 
D-, 


Place  of  Death  (d). 


'I 


London. 
London. 
Keswick. 


I— II 
I— II 

E-  4 


:;| 


Olney.  H — lo 

f  Grasmere.  E 

j  Edinburgh.  E- 

London.  I — ii 

London.  I — ii 

London.  I— ii 

London.  I — ii 
Lausanne,  Switzer- 
land. 


London. 
London. 
London. 

{Horton. 
London. 
{London. 
Twickenham. 
f  London. 
Brantwood. 
Abbotsford. 
London. 


I— II 

I— II 

I— II 

H— 

I 


I- 

E- 
E-  2 
I— II 

I-i: 


Bishopsgate. 
Switzerland  and  Italy 


:! 


London. 


I— II 


{London.  I— ii  ) 

Dublin,  Ireland.  | 


fFarringford. 
Aldworth. 
London. 

{Grasmere. 
Rydal  Mount. 


G-13I 
H-12J 
-II 

:l 


I-II 


London. 
Liverpool. 
London. 
Haworth. 

Florence,  Italy. 

Venice,  Italy. 
London. 

Dumfries. 


I-II 
E-7 

I— II 
F—  6 


I-II 
D-3 


Missolonghi,  Greece. 

London. 
London. 
London. 

East  Dereham. 

Edinburgh. 

Gadshill. 
London. 
London. 

London. 

London. 
London. 
London. 

London. 

Twickenham. 

Brantwood. 
Abbotsford. 


I-II 
I— II 
I— II 

J-  9 
E—  I 

J-12 
I-II 
I-II 

I-II 

I— II 
I-II 
I-II 

I— II 
I-II 

E-s 

E—  2 

Stratford-on-Avon.    G — 10 

Bay  of  Spezia,  Italy. 
London.  '    I — 11 

Dublin,  Ireland. 

Aldworth.  H— 12 

London.  I — 11 

Rydal  Mount  E—  4 


APPENDIX. 

BOOKS  OF  REFERENCE. 

A  BRIEF  list  of  works  of  reference,  including  nnportant  review  and 
magazine  articles,  is  here  appended  for  the  general  and  special  study  of 
English  literature.  The  list  is  longer  than  any  one,  except  a  specialist, 
is  likely  to  need.  The  emphasis  of  study  should  be  placed,  not  on  what 
critics  have  said  about  an  author,  but  on  what  the  author  himself  has 
written.  A  good  biography  or  two,  with  several  review  articles,  will 
usually  be  found  sufficient  to  place  the  student  in  a  position  for  the 
serious  study  of  a  great  writer.  Elaborate  lists  of  reference  will  be 
found  in  Welsh's  ''English  Masterpiece  Course,"  and  in  Poole's 
"Index." 

General  Works. 

Green's  "History  of  the  English  People." 

Macaulay's  "  History  of  England." 

Turner's  "  History  of  the  Anglo-Saxons." 

Palgrave's  "History  of  the  Anglo-Saxons." 

Conybeare's  "  Illustrations  of  Anglo-Saxon  Poetry." 

Corson's  "  Handbook  of  Anglo-Saxon  and  Early  English." 

Marsh's  "Origin  and  History  of  the  English  Language." 

Lounsbury's  "  History  of  the  English  Language." 

Warton's  "History  of  English  Poetry." 

Percy's  "  Reliques  of  Ancient  English  Poetry." 

Brooke's  "  History  of  Early  Englisii  Literature." 

Morley's  "  English  Writers."' 

Taine's  "English  Literature." 

Morley's  "  English  Men  of  Letters." 

Robertson's  "Great  Writers." 

Bascom's  "  Pliilosophy  of  English  Literature." 

"Encyclopedia  Britannica." 

671 


674  APPENDIX. 

Addison. 

Courthope's  "Life  of  Addison  "  (English  Men  of  Letters). 

Carruthers's  "  Pope's  Life  and  Letters." 

Johnson's  "  Lives  of  the  Poets." 

Dobson's  '*  Life  of  Steele." 

De  Quincey's  "  Literary  Reminiscences." 

Thackeray's  "  English  Humorists." 

Macaulay's  '•'  Essays." 

North  American  Review,  79  :  90  (Tuckerman)  ;  64  :  314  (Peabody). 

Century  Magazine,  26:  703  (Oliphant). 

LitteWs  Living  Age,  105  :  819 ;   170  :  776. 

Pope. 

Carruthers's  "  Pope's  Life  and  Letters." 
Stephen's  '•  Life  of  Pope"  (English  Men  of  Letters). 
Johnson's  "  Lives  of  the  Poets." 
Thackeray's  "  English  Humorists." 
Lowell's  "  My  Study  Windows." 
Scribner''s  Magazine,  3:  533  (Dobson). 

LitteWs  Living  Age,  65  :  330  ;  98  :  643  (Oliphant)  ;  163  :  515,  613  ;  184; 
195  (Traill). 

Swift. 

Orrery's  "  Life  and  Writings  of  Swift." 

Craik's  "  Life  of  Swift."       . 

Scott's  "  Life  of  Swift." 

Stephen's  "Life  of  Swift"  (English  Men  of  Letters). 

Johnson's  "  Lives  of  the  Poets." 

Thackeray's  '>  English  Humorists." 

Macaulay's  "  Essays." 

North  American  Review,  106  :  68  ;   123  :  170  (Hill). 

LitteWs  Living  Age,  45  :  303  (Masson)  ;   128:515;  104 :  707  ;  95  :  369. 

Johnson. 

Boswell's  "Life  of  Johnson." 

Stephen's  "  Life  of  Johnson  "  (English  Men  of  Letters). 

Grant's  "  Samuel  Johnson  "  (Great  Writers  Series). 

Carlyle's  "  Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson." 

Macaulay's  "Essay  on  Johnson." 


APPENDIX.  675 

Harper's  Magazine,  14  :  483  (Macaulay)  ;   82  :  927  (Besant). 
Edinburgh  Review,  7  :  436  (Jeffrey). 

LitteWs  Living  Age,  138:  86  (M.  Arnold)  ;   138:  541   (Cyples)  ;   121  : 
91  (Stephen)  ;   164:  425  (Birrell)  ;   163  :  803  (Gosse). 

Goldsmith. 

Forster's  "  Life  and  Times  of  Goldsmith." 

Irving's  "  Life  of  Goldsmith." 

Black's  "  Life  of  Goldsmith  "  (English  Men  of  Letters). 

Dobson's  ''  Life  of  Goldsmith  "'  (Great  Writers  Series). 

Macaulay's  "  Essays." 

Thackeray's  "  English  Humorists." 

North  American  Reviezu,  45  :  91  (Channing)  ;  8  :  309  (Dana). 

LitteWs  Living  Age,  18  :  345  (Lytton)  ;  43  :  531. 

Gibbon. 

Morison's  '*  Life  of  Gibbon  "  (English  Men  of  Letters). 

Gibbon's  "  Autobiography." 

Atlantic  Monthly,  41  :  99  (Howells). 

igth  Century,  36:  146  (F.  Harrison). 

LitteWs  Living  Age,  53  :  449  (Rogers) ;  35  :  417  ;  203  :  669  ;  210  :  416. 

COWPER. 

Taylor's  "  Life  of  Cowper." 

Wright's  "  Life  of  William  Cowper." 

Smith's  "Life  of  Cowper"  (English  Men  of  Letters). 

North  American  Review,  38:1    (Peabody)  ;  44:29  (Channing);   2: 

233  (W.  Phillips)  ;   19:  435  (Ware). 
LitteWs  Living  Age,  no :  67  (F"orrest)  :   no  :  376 ;   127  :  323  ;  86  :  563  ; 

72:259;   182:659  (Bailey);   189:546  (Rae) ;   191:815  (Bailey); 

204:  195  (Alice  Law). 

Burns. 

Lockhart's  "  Life  of  Robert  Burns." 

Chambers's  "  Life  and  Works  of  Robert  Burns." 

Shairp's  ''Life  of  Burns"  (English  Men  of  Letters). 

Blackie's  "Life  of  Robert  Burns"  (Great  Writers  Series). 

Carlyle's  "  Essay  on  Burns." 

North  American  Reinew,  42  :  66  (Peabody)  ;   143  :  427  (W.  Whitman). 


^^6  APPENDIX. 

LitteWs  Living  Age,  ii3  :  3  ;  206:  515  (Price). 

Atlantic  Monthly,  44:  502  (Shairp)  ;  6  :  385  (N.  Hawthorne). 

Scott. 
Lockhart's  "Life  of  Scott.^' 

Hutton's  "  Life  of  Scott"  (English  Men  of  Letters). 
Yonge's  •'  Life  of  Scott "  (Great  Writers  Series) . 
Carlyle's  "  Essay  on  Scott." 
Irving's  "  Abbotsford." 
Hunnewell's  "  Lands  of  Scott." 
Lang's  "Letters  to  Dead  Authors." 
North  American   Review,  32  :  386   (Peabody)  ;    46  :  431    (Prescott); 

87  :  293  (Brown)  ;  99  :  580  (H.  James,  Jr.). 
igth  Century,  7  :  941  (Ruskin). 
LittelVs   Living  Age,   110:579  (Stephen);    139:298  (Wedgewood)  : 

96: 541 ;   188 :  177  (Rae) ;  205 : 515. 
Harper'' s  Magazine,  44:  321  (Conway). 
Atlantic  Monthly,  60:  134;  69:  139. 

Byron. 
Moore's  "  Life  of  Byron." 

NichoPs  ••  Life  of  Byron  "  (English  Men  of  Letters). 
Noel's  "  Life  of  Lord  Byron"  (Great  Writers  Series). 
Arnold's  (Matthew)  "Essays  in  Criticism." 
Macaulay's  "Essays." 

Bayne's  "Essays  in  Biography  and  Criticism." 
Dowden's  "  Studies  in  Literature." 
Scott's  "Critical  and  Miscellaneous  Essays." 
Lowell's  "  Among  My  Books." 

North  American  Reviezv,  31  :  167  (Peabody)  ;  5  :  98  (Phillips). 
Edinburgh  Review,   27  :  277  (Jeffrey). 
LitteWs  Living  Age,  149:  131;   114:387. 

Wordsworth. 

Knight's  "  Life  of  Wordsworth  "  (3  vols.). 

Symington's  "Wordsworth,  His  Life  and  Works." 

Myers's  "  Life  of  Wordsworth  "  (English  Men  of  Letters). 

Coleridge's  "Works." 

De  Quincey's  "  Literary  Reminiscences." 

Hutton's  "  Essays  in  Literary  Criticism." 


APPENDIX.  677 

Lowell's  "  My  Study  Windows." 
Stephen's  ''  Hours  in  a  Library." 
LittelVs  Living  Age,  128  :  195  (Dowden)  ;  121  :  323  (Pater)  ;  142  :  323 

(M.  Arnold)  ;   184:  123  (Bromley)  ;  207  :  336. 
igth  Century,  26:  435  (Minto)  ;  15  :  583  (Swinburne). 
Atlantic  Monthly,  45  :  241  (Cranch). 
North  American  Review,  59:  352  (Whipple). 

Coleridge. 

Campbell's  "Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge." 
Traill's  '•  Life  of  Coleridge  "  (English  Men  of  Letters). 
Caine's  "  Life  of  Coleridge"  (Great  Writers  Series). 
Carlyle's  "  Life  of  Sterling." 
De  Quincey's  ''  Literary  Reminiscences." 
Coleridge's  "  Biographia  Literaria." 
Bayne's  "Essays  in  Biography  and  Criticism." 
Atlantic  Monthly,  45  :  843  (Lathrop). 
Edinburgh  Review,  28  :  488  (Hazlitt). 

LittelVs  Living  Age.  98  :  515  ;  1 1 1  :  643  ;  167  :  515  ;  164 :  557  ;  163  :  433  ; 
183 :  131  (Dowden). 

Shelley. 
Dowden's  "  Life  of  Shelley." 

Symond's  "Life  of  Shelley'"  (English  Men  of  Letters). 
Sharp's  "Life  of  Shelley"  (Great  Writers  Series). 
Shelley's  (Mrs.)  "Shelley  Memorials." 
De  Quincey's  "  Essays  on  the  Poets." 
Calvert's  "Coleridge,  Shelley,  and  Goethe." 
Rabbe's  "  Shelley :  the  Man  and  the  Poet." 
Mark  Twain's  "  Defence  of  Harriet  Slielley  "  in  "  How  to  Tell  a  Story, 

and  Other  Essays." 
Trelawny's  "  Records  of  Shelley,  Byron,  and  the  Author." 
Atlantic  Monthly,  70  :  106,  391  (Scudder)  ;   59  :  559. 
Century  Magazine,  22  :  622  (Woodberry). 
North  American  Review,  146:  104  (Gannett). 
LittelVs  Living  Age,  155  :  387  ;   176:  323  (M.  Arnold). 

De  Qulncey. 

Page's  "  De  Quincey's  Life  and  Writings." 

Massons  "  Life  of  De  Quincey ''  (English  Men  of  Letters). 


678  APPENDIX. 

De  Quincey's  "Literary  Reminiscences." 
Stephen's  "  Hours  in  a  Library," 
Bayne's  "Essays  in  Biography  and  Criticism." 
Japp's  "De  Quincey  Memorials." 

Atlantic  Monthly,  12  :  345  (Alden)  ;  40  :  569  (Lathrop). 
North  American  Review,  88:  113  (Phillips)  ;  74:  425  (Brown). 
Century  Magazine,  19:853  (Japp). 
Harper^s  Monthly,  80  •  446  (Hogg) . 

LittelVs  Living  Age,  57  :  918  ;  68  :  323,  451  ;   109 :  278  (Stephen)  ;  170 : 
707  (Japp). 

Macaulay. 

Trevelyan's  "Life  and  Letters  of  Macaulay." 
Morison's  "Life  of  Macaulay"  (EngHsh  Men  of  Letters). 
Arnold's  (M.)  "Mixed  Essays." 
McCarthy's  "  History  of  Our  Own  Times." 
Harrison's  "Early  Victorian  Literature." 
Bayne's  "Essays  in  Biography  and  Criticism." 
Harper's  Monthly,  53  :  85,  238  (Stoddard)  ;  58  :  605  (Lloyd). 
North  American  Review,  93  :  418  (C.  C.  Smith). 

LittelPs  Living  Age,  67  :  387  ;   129  :  515  ;   129  :  482  (Morley)  ;   129 :  805 
(Stephen);   130:515  (Gladstone);   149:  195  (Myers). 

Charlotte  Bronte. 

Gaskell's  (Mrs.)  "  Life  of  Charlotte  Bronte." 

Blrrell's  "  Charlotte  Bronte." 

Harrison's  "Early  Victorian  Literature." 

N'orth  American  Review,  67  :  354  (Whipple)  ;  85  :  293  (Mrs.  Sweat). 

LittelPs  Living  Age,  53  :  385,  777  ;  54  :  680  ;   55  :  385  ;   130  :  801  (Reid)  ; 

136 :  23  (Stephen)  ;  153  :  368  (Armitt)  ;   184 :  429  (Walford)  ;   190 : 

241,  819  (Williams). 

Thackeray. 

Trollope's  "Life  of  Thackeray"  (English  Men  of  Letters). 
Merivale  and  Marzial's  "  Life  of  Thackeray"  (Great  Writers  Series). 
Fields's  "Yesterdays  with  Authors." 
Lanier's  "The  English  Novel." 
Masson's  "British  Novelists." 
McCarthy's  "  History  of  Our  Own  Times." 


APPENDIX.  679 

Harrison''s  "  Early  Victorian  Literature." 
Atlantic  Monthly,  13  :  371  (B.  Taylor)  ;  60  :  853. 
Forum,  14:  503  (Mallock). 

Harper''s  Monthly,  49:  533  (Stoddard)  ;  54:  256  (Lunt). 
North  American  Revietv.  jy  :  199  (Kirk). 

LittelVs  Living  Age,  80:476  (Dicken.s)  ;    144:  157   (Reed);    178:  159 
(Merivale)  ;  190  :  44  (Lang)  ;   198  :  504  (Thackeray). 

Dickens. 

Forster's  "  Life  of  Charles  Dickens." 
Ward's  '•  Life  of  Dickens  "  (English  Men  of  Letters). 
Marzial's  "Life  of  Dickens  "  (Great  Writers  Series). 
Davey's  "  Darwin,  Carlyle.  and  Dickens." 
Fields's  "Yesterdays  with  Authors." 
Harrison's  "  Early  V^ictorian  Literature." 
Lanier's  "The  English  Novel." 
McCarthy's  "  History  of  Our  Own  Times." 
Atlaiitic  Monthly,  26:  476,  591  (Putnam)  ;  39:  462  (Whipple). 
Harper's  MontJily,  41  :  610  (Conway). 
Munsey,  10  :  647  (Hurd). 

North  American  Review.  56:  212  (Felton)  ;  69:  383  (Whipple). 
Litteirs  Living  Age,  no  :  29;  144  :  3   (iMinto)  ;  155  :  793   (Morris)  ; 
178:  159  (Merivale). 

George  Eliot. 

Cross's  "George  Eliot's  Life." 

Browning's  (Oscar)  "Life  of  George  Eliot"  (Great  Writers  Series). 
Blind's  "George  Eliot  "  (Famous  Women  Series). 
Brown's  "  Ethics  of  George  Eliot." 
Woolson's  (Mrs.)  "George  Eliot  and  Her  Heroines." 
Dowden's  "  Studies  in  Literature." 
Lanier's  "The  English  Novel." 
Harrison's  "  Early  Victorian  Literature." 
Atlantic  Monthly,  t^o  :  684  (James)  ;  55  :  668  (James). 
Harper's  Monthly,  62  :  912  (Paul). 

North  American  Review,  103  :  557  (Sedgwick)  ;   124  :  31  (Whipple). 
Scribner's  Magazine,  8  :  685  (Wilkinson). 

LitteWs  Living  Age,  115:  100  (Dowden)  ;    148  :  731   (Stephen)  ;    148  : 
651;   149:791  (Simcox)  ;   160:762;   164:533. 


68o  APPENDIX. 

E.  B.  Browning. 

Ingram's  "Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning." 

Orr's  (Mrs.)  "Life  of  Browning." 

Sharp's  "  Life  of  Browning"  (Great  Writers  Series). 

Bayne's  "  Two  Great  Englishwomen." 

Stedman's  "Victorian  Poets." 

Lowell's  "  My  Study  Windows." 

Corson's  "Introduction  to  Browning." 

Atlantic  Monthly,  8  :  368  (K.  Field). 

North  American  Review,  85  :  415  (Everett). 

Scribner'^s  Magazine,  7:  loi  (Stedman). 

LittdVs  Living  Age,  52  :  427  ;  155  :  416;  181  :  643  ;  204 :  31 1  (Corkran). 

Browning. 

Orr's  (Mrs.)  "Life  and  Letters  of  Browning." 

Sharp's  "Life  of  Browning"  (Great  Writers  Series). 

Ritchie's  (Mrs.)  "Records  of  Tennyson,  Ruskin,  and  Browning." 

Dowden's  "  Studies  in  Literature." 

Stedman's  "Victorian  Poets." 

Alexander's  "Introduction  to  Browning." 

Cooke's  "  Browning  Guide-Book." 

Corson's  "  Introduction  to  Browning." 

Forster's  "  Four  Great  Teachers :  Ruskin,  Carlyle,  Emerson,  and 
Browning." 

Berdoe's  "  Browning's  Message  to  His  Time." 

Atlantic  Monthly,  65  :  243  ;  68  :  263. 

Scribner''s  Magazine,  9:  127  (Stedman). 

LittelVs  Living  Age,  122:67  (Orr) ;  159:771  (Noel);  184:290 
(Brooke);  184:297  (Traill);  184:372  (Gosse)  ;  184:660  (Hut- 
ton);  190:563  (Lang). 

Tennyson. 

Tennyson's  "Lord  Tennyson:  a  Memoir." 

Waugh's  "Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson." 

Jenning's  "  Lord  Tennyson." 

Brooke's  "Tennyson,  His  Art  and  Relation  to  Modern  Life." 

Van  Dyke's  "  Poetry  of  Tennyson." 

Walter's  "  Tennyson,  Poet,  Philosopher,  Idealist." 


APPENDIX.  68 1 

Ritchie's  (Mrs.)  "Records  of  Tennyson,  Ruskin,  and  Browning." 
Dowden's  "  Studies  in  Literature." 
Bagehot's  "Literary  Studies." 
Stedman's  "Victorian  Poets." 
Wiiipple's  "Essays  and  Reviews." 
Atlantic  Moiit/ily,  44 :  356. 

Century  Magazine^  16:  515  (Van  Dyke)  ;  20:  502  (Van  Dyke). 
Harper's  Monthly,  68  :  21  (Ritcliie)  ;  86:  309  (Fields). 
North  American  Review,  90  :  i  (Everett)  ;   133  :  82  (Stoddard). 
Review  of  Reviews,  6:  557  (Stead). 
Scribner's  Magazine,  8  :  100,  160  (Stedman). 

LittelPs  Living  Age,  63  :  579;    146  :  483,  544;   147  :  786;   195  :  446; 
196:  415  (Traill). 

Carlyle. 
Froude's  "  Life  of  Carlyle." 

Nichol's  "  Life  of  Carlyle  "  (English  Men  of  Letters). 
Garnett's  "Life  of  Carlyle"  (Great  Writers  Series). 
Masson's  "  Carlyle,  Personally  and  in  His  Writings." 
Forster's   "  Four   Great    Teachers :     Ruskin,    Carlyle,   Emerson,   and 

Browning." 
Carlyle's  "  Reminiscences." 
Mead's  "  The  Philosophy  of  Carlyle." 
Davey's  "  Darwin,  Carlyle,  and  Dickens." 
Dowden's  "  Studies  in  Literature." 
Harrison's  "Early  Victorian  Literature." 
Norton's  "Correspondence  of  Emerson  and  Carlyle." 
Atlantic  Monthly,  51  :  320,  560;   55  :  421  ;  71  :  287. 
Century  Magazine,  4:  530  (Burroughs). 
Harper's  Monthly,  48  :  726  (Wilson) ;  62  :  888  (Conway). 
North  American  Review,   102:419  (Lowell);    136:431    (Whipple); 

140:  9  (F.  Harrison). 
LitielPs  Living  Age,  156  :  438  (Morrison);   170  :  259  (Max  Mliller); 

184:  323  (Tyndall);  191  :  758  (Lecky). 

Matthew  Arnold. 

Russell's  "Letters  of  Matthew  Arnold." 
Hutton's  "  E.ssays,  Theological  and  Literary." 
Shairp's  "  Religion  and  Culture." 
Atlantic  Monthly,  53  :  641. 


682  APPENDIX. 

Century  Magasine,  i  :  849  (Lang). 

Forum^i  20  :  616. 

Scribtier's  Magazine,  4:537   (Birrell);    7:463    (Stedman);    18:281 

(Merriam). 
LitteWs  Living  Age,   177  :  545    (Myers);   178  :  88   (Traill);  182  :  771 

(Lord   Coleridge);    200:90    (Stephen);    207:771    (Gladstone); 

208  :  46  ( A.  Austin) ;  209  :  362  (F.  Harrison). 

RUSKIN. 

Collingwood's  "Life  of  John  Ruskin." 

Mather's  "Life  and  Teachings  of  John  Ruskin." 

Ruskin's  "Praeterita." 

Japp's  "  Three  Great  Teachers  of  Our  Time." 

Bayne''s  "Lessons  from  My  Masters." 

Baillie's  "  Aspects  of  the  Thought  and  Teaching  of  John  Ruskin." 

Century  Magazine,  13  :  357  (Stillman). 

HarpC7-'s  Monthly,  80:  578  (Ritchie). 

LitteWs  Living  Age,  178  :  50  ;   187  :  407  ;   198  :  813  ;   199  :  131. 


APPENDIX.  6'B,l 


BOOKS   WORTH   READING 

The  followino:  list  of  books  is  intended  to  include  a  large  number  of 
standard  works  from  the  various  periods  of  English  literature.  All  the 
works  placed  in  the  list,  except  a  few  minor  poems,  are  mentioned  in 
the  text,  where  more  or  less  information  concerning  them  is  given.  It 
is  hoped  that  the  list  will  serve  as  a  guide  to  those  who  are  often  at  a 
loss  to  know  what  to  read  or  study,  and  who,  for  lack  of  judicious  guid- 
ance, waste  much  time  on  what  is  poor  or  hurtful  literature.  The  works 
specially  conwtended  to  tlie  student  are  printed  in  small  capitals. 
Many  excellent  works  in  literary  biography  and  criticism  have  been 
given  in  the  foregoing  list  of  '•  Books  of  Reference." 

"Beowulf"  (Earle's,  Garnett's,  or  Hall's  translation). 

Bede's '•  Ecclesiastical  History,"  with  Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle  (Bohn). 

Langland's  "  Piers  the  Plowman." 

Gower's  "Confessio  Amantis." 

Chaucer's  "  Compleynt  unto  Pite,"  "  Truth,"  "  Compleynt  to  his  Purs," 

"  Prologue,"  '•  Knight's  Tale,"  "  Clerk's  Tale,"  "  Nonne  Prestes 

Tale,"  "  Wife  of  Bath's  Tale." 

More's  "  Utopia." 

Hooker's  "Ecclesiastical  Polity,"  Book  I. 

Sidney's  "Defense  of  Poesie." 

< 

"Old  English  Ballads"  (Percy's  Reliques). 

"Best  Elizabethan  Plays"  (Thayer). 

Spenser's  "  Shepherd's  Calendar,"  "  Colin  Clout's  Come  Home  Again." 
"  Mother  Hubbard's  Tale,"  "  Epithalamion."  "  Faery  Queene," 
Book  I. 

Bacon's  "Essays,"  "  Advancement  of  Learning,"  "Novum  Organum." 

Shakespeare's  "King  Henry  IV.,"  "Merry  Wives  of  Windsor," 
"Merchant  of  Venice,"  "Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  "Tam- 
ing of  the  Shrew,"  "Julius  Caesar,"  "Antony  and  Cleopatra," 
"Romeo  AND  Juliet,"  "Ha.mlet,"  "Othello,"  "Macbeth," 
"  King  Lear,"  etc. 


684  APPENDIX. 

Walton's  "  Complete  Angler." 

Taylor's  "  Holy  Living  and  Dying." 

Baxter's  "  Saints'  Everlasting  Rest "  and  "  Reformed  Pastor." 

Clarendon's  "History  of  the  Rebellion." 

Milton's  "Comus,"  "L'Allegro,"  '-II  Penseroso,"  "  Lycidas," 
"  Areopagitica,"  "  Tractate  on  Education,"  "  Samson  Ago- 
NiSTES,"  "Paradise  Lost,"  "  Paradise  Regained." 

Bunyan's  "  Pilgrim's  Progress." 

Evelyn's  "  Diary." 

Pepys's  "Diary." 

Locke's  "  Thoughts  Concerning  Education  "  and  "  Essay  on  the  Human 
Understanding." 

Dryden's  "Absalom  and  Achitophel,"  "  Religio  Laici,"  "Hind 
and  Panther,"  "  Aeneid,"  "  Palamon  and  Arcite,"  "  Alexan- 
der's Feast." 

Addison's  "  Cato,"  "  Hymns,"  and  "  Spectator." 

Pope's  "  Essay  on  Criticism,"  "  Rape  of  the  Lock,"  "  Iliad,"  "  Essay 
on  Man,"  etc. 

Swift's  "  Battle  of  the  Books,"  "  Tale  of  a  Tub,"  "  Gulliver's  Trav- 
els," "  Journal  to  Stella." 

Sheridan's  "  The  Rivals  "  and  "  School  for  Scandal." 

Burke's  "  Speeches  "  and  "  Reflections  on  the  Revolution  in  France." 

Hume's  "  History  of  England." 

Robertson's  "  History  of  Scotland  "  and  "  History  of  Charles  V." 

Gibbon's  "Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire"  and  "Auto- 
biography." 

Akenside's  "  Pleasures  of  the  Imagination." 

Gray's  "  Poems,"  particularly  "  Distant  Prospect  of  Eton  Col- 
lege," "  Elegy  in  a  Country  Church  Yard,"  and  "  Prog- 
ress of  Poesy." 

Collins's  "  Ode  on  the  Death  of  Thomson,"  "  Ode  to  Evening,"  and 
"  Ode  on  the  Passions." 

Crabbe's  "  The  Village." 

Shenstone's  "  The  School-Mistress." 

Warton's  "  History  of  English  Poetry." 

Percy's  "  Reliques  of  Ancient  English  Poetry." 

Boswell's  "  Life  of  Johnson." 

Smith's  "Wealth  of  Nations." 

Macpherson's  "  Ossian." 

Beattie's  "  Minstrel." 


APPENDIX.  685 

Johnson's  "  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes,"  "  Rambler,"  "  Rasselas,"  and 
"  Lives  of  the  Poets." 

Goldsmith's  "Traveller,"  "Deserted  Village,"  "The  Good- 
Natured  Man,"  "  She  Stoops  to  Conquer,"  and  "  Vicar  of 
Wakefield." 

Cowper's  "  The  Task,"  "  Iliad,"  "  John  Gilpin,"  "  Friendship," 
"  Verses,"  "  My  Mother's  Picture,"  "  The  Poplar  Field,"  "  The 
Shrubbery,"  "  The  Castaway,"  and  "  Letters." 

Burns's  "  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,"  "  Mary  Morison,"  "  To  a 
Mouse,"  "Address  to  the  Deil,"  "Man  was  Made  to  Mourn," 
"  Mountain  Daisy,"  "  A  Man's  a  Man  for  a'  That,"  "  On 
Seeing  a  Wounded  Hare,"  "Tale  o'  Tam  O'Shanter,"  "To 
Mary  in  Heaven."  "  Bruce's  Address,"  "  Epistle  to  a  Young 
Friend,"  "  Address  to  the  Unco  Guid,"  etc. 

Lamb's  "  Tales  from  Shakespeare  "  and  "  Essays  of  Elia." 

Lockhart's  "  Life  of  Burns  "  and  "  Life  of  Scott." 

Hallam's  "  Middle  Ages"  and  "  Literature  of  Europe." 

Mitford's  "  History  of  Greece." 

Jane  Austen's  '•  Sense  and  Sensibility,"  "  Pride  and  Prejudice," 
and  "  Emma." 

Jane  Porter's  "  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw"  and  "The  Scottish  Chiefs." 

Mrs.  Hemans's  "  Poems." 

Maria  Edgeworth's  "Castle  Rackrent." 

Campbell's  "  Pleasures  of  Hope,"  "  Gertrude  of  Wyoming,"  "  O'Con- 
nor's Child,"  "Lochiel's  Warning,"  "Battle  of  the  Baltic,"  "Ye 
Mariners  of  England,''  "  Hohenlinden,"  "  Soldier's  Dream," 
"  Last  Max."  "  Hallowed  Ground."  etc. 

Keats's  " Endymion,"  "Lamia,"  "Eve  of  St.  Agnes,"  "Hyperion," 
"Nightingale,"  "Grecian  Urn,"  and  " Autumn." 

Southey's  "Life  of  Nelson,"  and  select  poems,  particularly  "  Lo- 
dore,"  "Well  of  St.  Keyne,"  "Mary  the  Maid  of  the 
Inn,"  "March  to  Moscow,"  "The  Scholar,"  "  Auld  Cloots," 
etc. 

Moore's  "Lalla  Rookh,"  "Irish  Melodies,"  and  "Life  of  Byron." 

Hood's  "Poems"  and  "Up  the  Rhine." 

Keble's  "  Christian  Year." 

Rogers's  "  Pleasures  of  Memory." 

Scott's  "  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  "  Marmion,"  "  Lady  of  the 
Lake."  "Waverley,"  "Old  Mortality."  "Heart  of  Midlo- 
thian," "  Kenilworth,"  "  IvANHOE,"  "  Quentin  Durward,"  etc. 


6S6  APPENDIX. 

Byron's  "  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers,"  "  Childe  Har- 
old," "  Prisoner  of  Chillon,"  "  Giaour,"  "  Bride  of  Abydos," 
"Corsair,"  "Lara,"  "Manfred,"  "The  Dream,"  "Fare  Thee 
Well,"  "Vision  of  Judgment,"  "Hebrew  Melodies,"  etc. 

Wordsworth's  "  We  are  Seven,"  "  Expostulation  and  Reply,"  "  The 
Tables  Turned,"  "Tintern  Abbey,"  "Lucy  Gray,"  "Ruth," 
"Nutting,"  "Poet's  Epitaph,"  "Michael."  "The  Happy  War- 
rior," "  My  Heart  Leaps  Up,"  "  She  Was  a  Phantom  of  Delight," 
"To  the  Daisy,"  "  She  Dwelt  Among  the  Untrodden  Ways,"  "Ode 
TO  Duty,"  "Ode  on  Immortality,"  "The  Prelude,"  "The  Ex- 
cursion" (extracts),  "Sonnets." 

Coleridge's  "  Biographia  Literaria,"  "  Table  Talk,"  "  ^olian  Harp," 
"Reflections  on  Leaving  a  Place  of  Retirement,"  "  Religious  Mus- 
ings," "  The  Destiny  of  Nations,"  "  Ode  to  France,"  "  To  William 
Wordsworth,"  "The  Nightingale,"  "The  Ancient  Mariner," 
"  Love,"  "  Christabel,"  "  Ode  to  Dejection,"  "  Hymn  before  Sun- 
rise," "  Wallenstein." 

Shelley's  "  The  Lament,"  "  Hymn  to  Intellectual  Beauty," 
"Alastor,"  "The  Revolt  of  Islam,"  "Julian  and  Maddalo," 
"Ode  to  the  West  Wind,"  "Prometheus  Unbound,"  "The 
Cenci,"  "  Ode  to  Naples,"  "  Ode  to  Liberty,"  "  To  A  Skylark," 
"  The  Cloud,"  "  Adonais,"  "  Defence  of  Poetry." 

De  Quincey's  "Literary  Reminiscences,"  "Confessions  of  an 
Opium  Eater,"  "On  Murder  Considered  as  One  of  the 
Fine  Arts,"  "  Suspiria  de  Profundis,"  "  The  English  Mail  Coach," 
"Revolt  of  the  Tartars,"  "On  War,"  "Style,"  "Joan  of  Arc," 
"  Autobiographical  Sketches." 

Bulwer's  "Last  Days  of  Pompeii,"  "My  Novel,"  "The  Lady  of 
Lyons,"  "Richelieu,"  etc. 

Disraeli's  "  Vivian  Grey,"  "  Coningsby,"  "  Endymion,"  etc. 

Kingsley's  "  Hypatia,"  "Westward  Ho,"  "  Hereward  the  Wake," 
etc. 

Marryat's  "Peter  Simple,"  "Mr.  Midshipman  Easy,"  etc. 

Trollope's  "  The  Warden,"  "  Framley  Parsonage,"  "  Can  You  For- 
give Her,"'  "  Autobiography,"  etc. 

Reade's  "  Peg  Woffington,"  "  It  is  Never  too  Late  to  Mend,"  "The 
Cloister  and  the  Hearth,"  etc. 

Collins's  "  The  Woman  in  White,"  "  No  Name,"  "  The  Moonstone." 

Stevenson's  "Treasure  Island,"  "  Kidnapped,"  "  The  Master  of 
Ballantrae,"  etc. 


APPENDIX.  687 

Mrs.  Craik's  "John  Halifax,  Gentleman,"  "  A  Life  for  a  Life,"  etc. 

Lord  Lytton's  (Owen  Meredith)  "  Lucile. ^ 

Morris's  "  Life  and  Death  of  Jason"  and  "  Earthly  Paradise." 

Rossetti's  "  Rose  Mary,"  "  Blessed  Damozel,"  ••  Ballad  of  the  White 
Ship,"  "  The  King's  Tragedy,"  etc. 

Swinburne's  '•  Atalanta  in  Calydon,"  and  shorter  poems. 

Arnold's  (Edwin)  "  The  Light  of  Asia,"  "  The  Light  of  the  World,"  etc. 

Grote's  "'History  of  Greece." 

Thirlwall's  "  History  of  Greece." 

Milman's  •'  Latin  Christianity." 

Froude's  "  History  of  England,"  "  Short  Studies  on  Great  Sub- 
jects," ''  Life  of  Carlyle,"  *'  Life  of  Erasmus." 

Freeman's  ''  History  of  the  Norman  Conquest." 

Lecky's  "  History  of  European  Morals." 

Green's  "  History  of  the  English  People." 

Alison's  "  History  of  Europe." 

Darwin's  "Origin  of  Species"  and  '-Descent  of  Man." 

Spencer's  "  First  Principles,"  "  Data  of  Ethics,"  "  The  Study  of 
Sociology." 

Huxley's  "  Lay  Sermons  "  and  "  Science,  Culture,  and  Other  Essays." 

Mill's  '"Political  Economy,"  "Representative  Government,"  "Subjec- 
tion of  Women." 

Miller's  "My  Schools  and  School-masters,"  "Old  Red  Sandstone." 

Macaulay's  "  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome,"  "  History  of  England,"  and 
'•  Essays." 

Bronte's  "The  Professor,"  "Jane  Eyre,"  "  Shirley,"  "  Villette." 

Thackeray's  "  Memoirs  of  Yellowplush,''  "  Catharine,"  "  Great  Hoggarty 
Diamond,"  "  Barry  Lyndon."  "  The  Lucky  Speculator,"  "  Novels  by 
Eminent  Hands."  "  The  Book  of  Snobs,"  "  Vanity  Fair,"  "  Pen- 
dennis,"  "Henry  Esmond,"  "The  Newcomes,"  "English 
Humorists." 

Dickens's  "  Pickwick,"  "  Oliver  Twist,"  "  Nicholas  Nickleby," 
"  Old  Curiosity  Shop,''  "  Martin  Chuzzlewit,"  "  The  Christmas 
Carol,"  "  Dombey  and  Son,"  "  David  Copperfield,"  "  Bleak 
House,"  "  Tale  of  Two  Cities,"  etc. 

George  Eliot's  "  Scenes  of  Clerical  Life,"  "  Ada.m  Bede,"  "  The  Mill 
on  the  Floss,"  "  Silas  Marner,"  "  Romola,"  "  Middlemarch," 
"Daniel  Deronda." 

Mrs.  Browning's  "' Romaunt  of  Margret,"  "The  Poet's  Vow."  "Cowper's 
Grave,"  '•  Crowned  and  Buried,"  "  My  Heart  and  I,"  '■  A  V^ision  of 


688  APPENDIX. 

Poets,"  '•  Wine  of  Cyprus,''  "  Prometheus  Bound,"  "  Rhyme  of 
THE  Duchess  May,"  "The  Dead  Pan,"  "The  Sleep,"  "Lady 
Geraldine's  Courtship,"  "  Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese," 
"Casa  Guidi  Windows,"  "Aurora  Leigh,"  "Napoleon  III.  in 
Italy,"  "  Italy  and  the  World,"  etc. 

Browning's  "Paracelsus,"  "Pippa  Passes,"  "My  Last  Duchess," 
"  Laria,"  "A  Death  in  the  Desert,"  "The  Pied  Piper  of  Hame- 
lin,"  "  How  they  Brought  the  Good  News  from  Aix  to  Ghent," 
"Saul,"  "  Christmas  Eve  and  Easter  Day,"  "  Evelyn  Hope,"  "  Fra 
Lippo  Lippi,"  "By  the  Fireside,"  "Strange  Medical  Experi- 
ences of  Karshish,"  "  The  Last  Ride  Together,"  "  Andrea 
DEL  SARTO,""In  a  Balcony,"  " Cleon,"  "Abt  Vogler,"  "Rabbi 
Ben  Ezra,"  "  Balaustion's  Adventure,"  etc. 

Tennyson's  "  Lilian,"  "  Recollections  of  the  Arabian  Nights,"  "  Mari- 
ana," "  The  Poet,"  "  May  Queen,"  "  Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere," 
"  The  Lotus  Eaters,"  "  The  Palace  of  Art,"  "  Morte  d'Arthur," 
"  The  Gardener's  Daughter,"  "  Dora,"  "  Locksley  Hall," 
"  Edward  Gray,"  "  Lady  Clare,"  "  Ulysses,"  "  The  Two  Voices," 
"  St.  Simeon  Stylites,"  "  The  Princess,"  "  In  Memoriam," 
"  Maud,"  "  Idyls  of  the  King,"  "  Enoch  Arden,"  "  Merlin  and 
the  Gleam,"  etc. 

Carlyle's  '•  Life  of  Schiller,"  "  Life  of  Sterling,"  "  Richter,"  "  Goethe," 
"  Burns,"  "  Voltaire,"  "  Signs  of  the  Times,"  "  Characteristics," 
"  Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson,"  "  Sir  Walter  Scott,"  "  Sar- 
tor Resartus,"  "  French  Revolution,"  "  Heroes  and  Hero- 
WoRSHiP,"  "  Past  and  Present,"  "  Cromwell's  Letters  and 
Speeches,"  "  Frederick  the  Great,"  "  Inaugural  Address," 
"  Reminiscences." 

Arnold's  (Matthew)  "  Sohrab  and  Rustum,"  "  Balder  Dead,"' 
"Resignation,"  "A  Question,"  "The  Future,"  "The  Grande 
Chartreuse,"  "  Stagirius,"  -  Human  Life,"  "  In  Utrumque  Para- 
Tu.s,"  "  Dover  Beach,"  "  Lines  Written  in  Kensington  Gardens," 
"  The  Scholar  Gypsy,"  "  Memorial  Verses,"  "  On  Translating 
Homer,"  "  Essays  in  Criticism,"  "  Culture  and  Anarchy," 
"Essays  in  Criticism"  (second  series),  "Discourses  in 
America." 

Ruskin's  "  Modern  Painters,"  "  Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture," 
"The  Stones  of  Venice,"  "Unto  this  Last,"  "  Munera  Pulveris," 
"  Sesame  and  Lilies,"  "  Crown  of  Wild  Olives,"  "  Time  and 
Tide,"  '•  Lectures  on  Art,"  "  Praeterita." 


INDEX. 


Addison,  Joseph,  sketch  of,  229-239; 
humor  and  cheerfulness,  229 ;  scope 
of  his  writing,  229 ;  birth  and  educa- 
tion, 230;  praised  by  Boileau  and 
Dryden,  230;  a  Whig,  231;  travels, 
231;  "Letter  to  Lord  Halifax,"  232; 
famous  hymn,  232 ;  "  The  Campaign," 
233 ;  political  offices,  234 ;  engaged 
on  Tatler,  234 ;  Spectator,  234-236 ; 
"Cato,"  236;  relation  with  Pope  and 
Dennis,  237 ;  marriage,  238 ;  prime 
minister,  239 ;  death,  239;  Thackeray's 
tribute,  239 ;  Pope's  satire,  249. 

Age  of  Johnson,  decadent,  275 ;  transi- 
tional, 275. 

Age  of  Scott,  favorable  to  literature,  371. 

Akenside,  Mark,  273.  . 

Alcuin,  9 ;  sketch  of,  17,  18. 

Alfred  the  Great,  9  ;  sketch  of,  28-30. 

Alison,  Sir  Archibald,  475. 

Anglo-Saxons,  invasion  of,  13 ;  character, 
13;  language,  20,  21;  poetry,  22,  27; 
literature,  23. 

"  Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle,"  31,  40. 

Arabian  learning,  36. 

Arnold,  Edwin,  474. 

Arnold,  Matthew,  sketch  of,  639-655  ;  no 
biography  of,  639 ;  his  letters,  639 ; 
birth  and  parentage,  640;  at  Oxford, 
641 ;  his  reading,  642 ;  school  inspec- 
tor, 642;  marriage,  643 ;  poems,  644; 
rank  as  a  poet,  645 ;  "  Sohrab  and 
Rustum,"  645  ;  "  Resignation  "  and 
other  poems,  646,  647 ;  Professor  of 
Poetry  at  Oxford,  647  ;  "  On  Transla- 
ting Homer,"  647,  648 ;  feeling  under 
adverse  criticism,  649;  "Essays  in 
Criticism,"  649;  patriotism,  650;  his 
method,  650;  "  Culture  and  Anarchy," 
650;  culture  defined,  651 ;  "Philistine" 


and  "  Barbarian ' 
2y 


defined,  651 ;  Hellen- 


ism and  Hebraism, 652;  other  volumes, 
652 ;  religious  views,  652,  653 ;  visits 
America,  653  ;  "  Essays  in  Criticism," 
second  series,  654;  death,  654;  cri- 
tique, 654,  655. 

Arnold,  Thomas,  475,  640. 

Aryan  language  and  its  branches,  20. 

Ascham,  Roger,  67  ;  sketch  of,  85-87. 

Augustine  introduces  Christianity,  14, 15. 

Austen,  Jane,  368,  376. 

Bacon,  Francis,  sketch  of,  119-135;  as  a 
philosopher,  119;  attitude  toward  an- 
cients, 119;  end  of  knowledge,  119; 
Baconian  philosophy,  120;  parentage, 
120;  fortunate  period  of  birth,  121; 
precocity,  121 ;  a  the  university,  121 ; 
criticism  of  education,  122;  on  the 
Continent,  123 ;  studies  law,  123 ;  in 
Parliament,  124;  as  orator,  124;  politi- 
cal disappointments,  124;  relation  to 
Essex,  124, 125;  "  Essays,"  125  ;  politi- 
cal preferment,  128 ;  mode  of  living, 
128;  downfall,  129;  "  Instauratio 
Magna,"  130;  "  Novum  Organum," 
131-133  ;  intellectual  greatness,  134 ; 
estimate  of  his  work,  135, 

Baillie,  Joanna,  368. 

Ballads,  old  English,  40;  78-80. 

Barbauld,  Anna  Letitia,  368,  376. 

"  Battle  of  Brunanburh,"  40. 

Baxter,  Richard,  153,  161. 

Beattie,  James,  279 ;  his  "  Minstrel,"  286. 

Beaumont,  Francis,  68,  loi ;  on  Shake- 
speare, 140. 

Bede,  9 ;  sketch  of,  18,  19. 

"Beowulf,"  9;  described,  25-27. 

Bible,  English,  influence  of,  74. 

Boccaccio,  39;  relation  to  Chaucer,  59, 
60.  , 

Boileau,  199. 


689 


690 


INDEX. 


"  Book  of  Common  Prayer,"  74. 

Boswell,  James,  274;  and  Johnson,  288; 
on  Goldsmith,  302. 

Boyle,  Robert,  195. 

Bronte,  Charlotte,  sketch  of,  504-518; 
small  figure,  504;  self-portrayal  in  her 
works,  504 ;  sorrowful  life,  505  ;  child- 
hood, 505;  Yorkshire  people,  506;  at 
school,  506  ;  penchant  for  writing,  507  ; 
appearance  and  manner,  507 ;  routine 
at  home,  508 ;  as  governess,  508 ;  in 
Brussels,  509 ;  tries  to  open  school,  509 ; 
"  Poems,"  510 ;  "  The  Professor,"  510 ; 
realism,  511 ;  "  Jane  Eyre,"  511-513  ;  a 
word  for  women,  513  ;  "  Shirley,"  513  ; 
sensitive  to  criticism,  514;  critique,  516; 
marriage,    516;    Thackeray's    tribute, 

517- 

Browne,  Sir  Thomas,  153. 

Browning,  Elizabeth  Barrett,  sketch  of, 
568-584;  rank, 568  ;  indomitableenergy, 
568;  birth  and  ancestry,  569;  childhood 
studies,  569;  "Essay  on  Mind,"  569; 
Greek  scholarship,  570;  "  Prometheus 
Bound,"  571;  in  London,  571;  "  Ro- 
maunt  of  Margret,"  571 ;  "  Poet's  Vow," 
572;  "Seraphim,  and  Other  Poems," 
572;  invalid  condition,  573;  two  vol- 
umes of  poems,  574;  secret  marriage, 
576;  "Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese," 
576;  in  Florence,  577;  "Casa  Guidi 
Windows,"  577 ;  in  Paris,  579 ;  spirit- 
ualism, 579;  Tennyson's  visit,  580; 
"Aurora  Leigh,"  580;  "  Poems  before 
Congress,"  581 ;  "  Curse  for  a  Nation," 
582;  death,  582;  character,  583;  poe- 
try, 583. 

Browning,  Robert,  sketch  of,  585-602; 
originality,  585;  obscurity,  585;  spirit 
of  the  age,  586 ;  birth  and  parentage, 
586;  childhood,  587;  scholarship,  587  ; 
"  Pauline,"  588  ;  love  of  music,  588  ; 
"  Paracelsus,"  589 ;  an  idealist,  589 ; 
dramas,  590;  a  subjective  poet,  591; 
"  How  They  Brought  the  Good  News," 
591;  "Sordello,"  592;  "Bells  and 
Pomegranates,"  592;  "  My  Last 
Duchess,"  593;  fundamental  ideas, 
594;  marriage,  595;  "Christmas  Eve 
and  Easter  Day,"  595;  ';Men  and 
Women,"  596 ;  aim  of  artist,  596 ;  love, 


597 ;  death  of  his  wife,  597 ;  "  Dramatis 
Personae,"  598  ;  "  Death  in  the  Desert," 
598;  "The  Ring  and  the  Book,"  599; 
Greek  transcripts,  599,  600;  "Prince 
Hohenstiel-Schwangau,"  600;  "  La 
Saisiaz,"  600;  critique,  601;  death, 
601 ;  a  teacher,  601. 

"  Brut  "  of  Layamon,  41. 

Bulwer,  Edward,  Lord  Lytton,  473. 

Bunyan,  John,  sketch  of,  181-193 ;  meagre 
education,  181;  a  tinker,  181;  vicious 
youth,  182;  in  Civil  War,  18-2;  mar- 
riage, 183;  religious  experience,  183; 
conversion,  184;  as  a  preacher,  185; 
imprisoned,  186;  "  Pilgrim's  Progress," 
187-189;  "  Holy  War,"  189, 190;  "  Life 
and  Death  of  Mr.  Badman,"  190;  style, 
190;  Macaulay  on,  191;  popularity, 
192;    death  and  characterization,  193. 

Burke,  Edmund,  273  ;  279-281. 

Burnet,  Gilbert,  195. 

Burns,  Robert,  democratic  spirit,  286; 
sketch  of,  349-365;  rank,  349;  tragic 
life,  349;  birth  and  parentage,  350; 
early  reading,  350 ;  first  love  poem,  350 ; 
at  Kirkoswald,  351 ;  "  Mary  Morison," 
351;  his  ambition,  352;  at  Irvine,  352; 
effort  to  reform,  353 ;  at  Mossgiel,  354 ; 
first  volume,  354  ;  dinners  "  wi'  a  Lord," 
355 ;  visits  Edinburgh,  355  ;  his  man- 
ner, 356;  independence,  356;  drinking 
revels,  357;  marriage,  358;  failure  in 
farming,  358;  sympathy  with  nature, 
359;  "To  Mary  in  Heaven,"  360;  at 
Dumfries,  360;  manner  of  life,  361; 
democratic  sympathies,  361 ;  last  days, 
362 ;  kindly  judgment  of,  363 ;  estimate 
and  critique,  364,  365. 

Butler,  Joseph,  195. 

Butler,  Samuel,  196,  210. 

Byron,  Lord,  sketch  of,  397-409;  poetry 
autobiographic,  397 ;  place  in  literature, 
397 ;  birth  and  ancestry,  398 ;  early 
attachment,  399;  at  Cambridge,  399; 
"Hours  of  Idleness,"  400;  "English 
Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers,"  400; 
travels  on  Continent,  400;  "  Childe 
Harold's  Pilgrimage,"  400;  "The 
Giaour,"  "  Bride  of  Abydos,"  etc., 
401,  402;  appearance,  402;  opinion 
of  women,  402;  marriage,  403;  "  Fare 


INDEX. 


691 


Thee  Well,"  403 ;  leaves  England,  404 ; 
completes  "Childe  Harold,"  404,  405; 
"Prisoner  of  Chiilon,"  405;  dramas, 
406;  "Don  Juan,"  406;  critique,  407 ; 
influence  on  the  Continent,  407 ;  goes 
to  Greece,  408;  death,  408;  sadness 
of  his  hfe,  409. 

Caedmon,9;  24,25. 

Campbell,  Thomas,  36B,  376. 

Carew,  Thomas,  poem  of,  163. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  sketch  of,  622-638 ; 
three  famous  Scotchmen,  622;  con- 
trast with  Macaulay,  622 ;  his  faith  in 
heredity,  622 ;  school  days,  623 ;  at 
university,  624 ;  a  teacher,  624 ;  period 
of  gloom ,  625  ;  "  The  Everlasting  Yea," 
625 ;  a  German  scholar,  626 ;  opinion 
of  contemporaries,  626  ;  reverence  for 
Goethe,  627 ;  marriage,  627 ;  articles 
for  Edinburgh,  628;  "Sartor  Resar- 
tus,"  629 ;  his  style,  630 ;  "  French 
Revolution,"  631;  as  lecturer,  632; 
"Heroes  and  Hero- Worship,"  632; 
"Past  and  Present,"  632;  "Crom- 
well's Letters  arid  Speeches,"  633; 
"  Frederick  the  Great,"  634  ;  Inaugural 
Address,  635  ;  closing  years,  635  ;  char- 
acter, 636  ;  transcendentalism,  637;  in- 
fluence, 638. 

Cathedral  schools,  37. 

Caxton,  William,  67;  71,  72. 

Celts,  II,  12,  13. 

Chapman's  "  Homer,"  84. 

"  Chansons  de  Geste,"  37,  38. 

Charles  I.,  and  his  policy,  156;  bad  ad- 
visers, 157 ;  beheaded,  159. 

Charles  H.,  198. 

Chatterton,  Thomas,  his  "  Rowley 
Poems,"  285. 

Chaucer,  Geoffrey,  31 ;  sketch  of,  49-63; 
preeminence,  49;  scanty  details,  50; 
earliest  poem,  50;  public  offices,  51; 
literary  bent,  51 ;  disciple  of  Gower, 
52 ;  marriage,  52 ;  various  poems,  53 ; 
astrolabe,  54;  death,  54;  appearance, 
54 ;  integrity  and  attainments,  55  ;  love 
of  nature,  56 ;  treatment  of  women ,  57 ; 
objectionable  passages,  57;  prepara- 
tion for  his  work,  58  ;  French  influence, 
59 ;  Italian  influence,  59 ;  English  pe- 


riod, 59,  60;  "  Canterbury  Tales,"  60- 
63;  descriptivepower,  61,  62;  critique, 
63;  diction  and  versification,  64-66. 
Christianity  introduced  by  Augustine,  14, 

15- 
Clough,  Arthur  Hugh,  474. 
Coffee-houses,  number  of,  205. 
Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor,  sketch  of, 
425-441;  influence  of,  425;  birth  and 
parentage,  425 ;  precocity,  426 ;  Lamb's 
description,  426  ;  literary  training,  427 ; 
enlists  in  dragoons,  428 ;  Pantisocracy, 
428  ;  marriage,  429  ;  Watchman,  429 ; 
first  volume  of  poems,  430-432;  rela- 
tions with  Wordsworth,  432 ;  "Ancient 
Mariner,"  433 ;  "  Love,"  434 ,  "  Chris- 
tabel,"  435;  as  a  preacher,  436;  in 
Germany,  436 ;  translates  "  Wallen- 
stein,"436;  in  Lake  District,  437  ;  use 
of  opiates,  437  ;  at  Malta,  437 ;  as  lec- 
turer, 438 ;  dramas,  438  ;  "  Biographia 
Literaria,"  439 ;  three  periods,  439 ; 
personal  magnetism,  440;  death  and 
character,  440. 

Collier,  Jeremy,  195. 

Collins,  Wilkie,  473. 

Collins,  William,  273. 

Congreve,  William,  196;  tribute  to  Dry- 
den,  227. 

Conquest,  Roman,  12. 

Cowley,  Abraham,  153,  165. 

Covvper,  William,  sketch  of,  332-348 ; 
elements  of  his  poetry,  332 ;  sad  life, 
332 ;  birth  and  parentage,  333 ;  ill- 
treatment  at  school,  334 ;  poetical 
turn,  334;  studies  law,  335;  in  love, 
335;  mental  aberration,  336;  piety, 
337 ;  in  the  Unwin  family,  337 ;  at 
Olney,  338  ;  bad  health,  339 ;  "  Report 
of  an  Adjudged  Case,"  339 ;  lack  of 
initiative  energy,  340;  English  poets, 
340 ;  moral  satires,  341 ;  and  Lady 
Austin,  342;  "John  Gilpin,"  342; 
"The  Task,"  343-345;  translates 
Homer,  346 ;  shorter  poems,  346,  347 ; 
death,  347;  his  sincerity,  347. 

Crabbe,  George,  274. 

Craik,    Dinah    Maria    (Miss    Mulock), 

474- 
Cromwell,  Oliver,  anecdotes  of,  159. 
Cudworth,  Ralph,  195, 


692 


INDEX. 


Danes,  The,  11. 

Daniel,  Samuel,  67,  97. 

Dante,  39. 

Darwin,  Charles,  475. 

Declaration  of  Independence,  276. 

Defoe,  Daniel,  196,  207,  208. 

Deism,  principles  of,  201. 

Dekker,  Thomas,  68. 

De  Quincey,  Thomas,  sketch  of,  459- 
472 ;  personal  characteristics,  459 ;  old 
family,  459;  birth  and  parentage,  460; 
childhood,  460;  love  of  solitude,  461 ; 
under  the  influence  of  his  brother, 
461;  at  school,  462;  classic  attain- 
ments, 463;  visit  to  Ireland,  463;  at 
Lady  Carbery's,  464 ;  runs  away,  464 ; 
at  Oxford,  465 ;  opium  fiend,  466 ;  in 
the  Lake  District,  466 ;  "  Confessions," 
467 ;  article  on  Goethe,  467  ;  Carlyle's 
etching,  468 ;  "  Walladmor,"  468 ; 
"Murder  as  a  Fine  Art,"  469;  in 
Edinburgh,  469;  style,  470;  literature 
of  knowledge  and  ol  power,  471;  his 
digressions,  471;  preeminently  intel- 
lectual, 472 ;  death,  472. 

Dickens,  Charles,  sketch  of,  535-551 ; 
parentage,  535 ;  autobiographic  ele- 
ments in  "David  Copperfield,"  536; 
early  reading,  536;  in  blacking  ware- 
house, 537;  at  school,  538;  in  solici- 
tor's office,  538 ;  as  a  reporter,  539 ; 
"Sketches  by  Boz,"540;  "Pickwick," 
540;  Carlyle's  etching,  541 ;  marriage, 
542;  "  Oliver  Twist,"  542;  "Nicholas 
Nickleby,"  543;  method  of  work,  543; 
"  Old  Curiosity  Shop,"  544;  "  Barnaby 
Rudge,"  544;  travels,  545;  "Martin 
Chuzzlewit,"  545  ;  "Christmas  Carol," 
546;  in  Italy,  546;  "  Dombey  and  Son," 
547 ;  theatrical  company,  547  ;  "  David 
Copperfield,"  548  ;  other  novels,  548  ;  as 
a  reader,  549;  death,  549;  critique,  550. 

Disraeli,  Benjamin,  Earl  of  Beaconsfield, 

473- 

Dobson,  Henry  Austin,  474. 

Drama,  opposed  by  ancient  church,  97; 
origin  of  modern,  98;  miracle  plays, 
98;  moralities,  98;  interludes,  99;  first 
comedy,  99;  first  tragedy,  99  ;  theatres, 
99;  technique  of,  151,  152;  decline  of, 
under  Puritan  rule,  160. 


Drayton,  Michael,  67,  97. 

Dryden,  John,  sketch  of,  215-228;  rank, 
215;  degradation  of  genius,  215;  birth 
and  parentage,  216 ;  at  Westminster 
school,  216;  at  Cambridge,  216;  "He- 
roic Stanzas"  and  "Astraea  Redux," 
217;  as  dramatist,  217,  218;  "Annus 
Mirabilis,"  219  ;  "  Absalom  and  Achilo- 
phel,"  219,  220;  "  Religio  Laici,"  220, 
221;  translates  Boileau,  222;  turns 
Catholic,  222;  "Hind  and  Panther," 
223;  "Mac  Flecknoe,"  224;  transla- 
tions, 224;  "  ^neid,"  225;  versions 
from  Chaucer,  225;  "Alexander's 
Feast,"  226;  his  prose,  226;  as  a 
writer,  226,  227;  Congreve's  tribute, 
227. 

Edgeworth,  Maria,  368,  376. 

Education  followed  Christianity,  16,  17. 

Edwin  calls  a  council,  16. 

Element,  personal,  in  literature,  4. 

Eliot,  George,  sketch  of,  552-567 ; 
psychologic  realist,  552;  birth  and 
parentage,  552 ;  fond  of  reading,  553 ; 
domestic  training,  553;  as  a  linguist, 
554;  temperament,  554;  sceptical,  555  ; 
Myers  quoted,  555  ;  translates  "  Leben 
Jesu,"  556;  on  the  Continent,  556; 
editor  of  Westminster  Review,  557 ; 
relations  with  Lewes,  557;  realistic 
principles,  558;  "Amos  Barton,"  558; 
critique,  559  ;  happy  life,  559 ;  "  Adam 
Bede,"  560;  "  Mill  on  the  Floss,"  561; 
in  Florence,  561;  "Silas  Marner," 
561;  "  Romola,"  562;  receptions,  563 ; 
"Spanish  Gypsy,"  564;  other  poems, 
564;  "  Middlemarch "  and  "Daniel 
Deronda,"  565 ;  education  of  women, 
565;  marriage  to  Cross,  566;  death, 
566 ;  power  and  purpose,  566. 

Elizabeth,  Queen,  ascends  throne,  74; 
difficulties  and  dangers,  75  ;  character, 
75;  growth  of  Protestantism,  75,  76; 
condition  of  country,  76,  77 ;  English 
character,  77  ;  patron  of  drama,  139. 

England,  people  composite,  11 ;  meaning, 
13;  in  fourteenth  century,  35,  36;  ac- 
cession of  Elizabeth,  74,  76;  and  Scot- 
land united,  202  ;  influence  abroad,  202 ; 
social  condition,   203;    material   and 


INDEX. 


693 


intellectual  progress,  277 ;  morals  and 
religion,  278;  a  world-power,  278;  in 
Age  of  Scott,  371 ;    in  Victorian  Age, 

477-483- 
English  literature, defined, 2;  periodsof,6. 
Evelyn,  John,  195,  206. 

Farquhar,  George,  196. 
Fiction,  in  Victorian  Age,  484. 
Fielding,  Henry,  196,  209. 
First    Creative    Period,   69;    revival    of 
learning,  70,  71 ;  literary  activity,  84,  96. 
First  Critical  Period,  197. 
Fletcher,  John,  68,  loi. 
Freeman,  quoted,  40,  475. 
French  influence  at  Restoration,  198. 
Froude,  James  A.,  475. 

Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  39,  41. 

Gibbon,  Edward,  sketch  of,  315-331; 
rank  as  historian,  315;  "Autobiog- 
raphy," 315  ;  ancestry,  316 ;  birth,  316; 
at  school,  317;  love  of  history,  318; 
criticism  of  Oxford,  318 ;  becomes  a 
Roman  Catholic,  319;  sent  to  Lau- 
sanne, 319;  ardor  in  study,  320;  re- 
nounces Romanism,  320 ;  and  Voltaire, 
321 ;  love  affair,  321 ;  in  London,  322; 
his  library,  322;  "L'Etude  de  la  Lit- 
terature,"  323 ;  captain  of  militia,  323 ; 
finds  historical  subject,  324;  in  Paris, 
324;  visits  Italy,  325;  idleness,  325; 
begins  "Decline  and  Fall,"  326;  in 
Parliament,  326 ;  retires  to  Lausanne, 
327;  concludes  "Decline  and  Fall," 
327;  writes  "Autobiography,"  328; 
death,  329;  his  character,  329,  330; 
critique,  330  ;  style,  331. 

Gleeman,  21,  22. 

Goldsmith,  Oliver,  sketch  of,  302-314; 
characteristics,  302 ;  Garrick's  epitaph, 
302;  birth  and  parentage,  303;  as  a 
student,  304 ;  at  the  university,  305 ; 
anecdote,  305;  objection  to  clerical 
profession,  306 ;  starts  to  America,  306 ; 
studies  medicine,  307;  travels  on  Con- 
tinent, 307  ;  in  London,  308;  circle  of 
acquaintances,  309;  thriftless,  309; 
"Vicar  of  Wakefield,"  310;  "  Travel- 
ler," 310;  "  Good-Natured  Man,"  311; 
hack-work,  312;   "Deserted  Village," 


312;  "She  Stoops  to  Conquer,"  313; 
death,  313;  Thackeray's  estimate,  314. 

Gower,  John,  31 ;  sketch  of,  47,  48. 

Gray,  Thomas,  273. 

Green,  John  Richard,  on  classical  re- 
vival, 37  ;  on  Puritanism,  160,  475. 

Green,  Robert,  68, 99. 

Gregory,  Pope,  anecdote  of,  15. 

Grote,  George,  475. 

Hallam,     Henry,     quoted    on    "  Faery 

Queene,"    109;    on    Bacon,    134,  367; 

various  writings,  375. 
Hamilton,  Sir  William,  476. 
Hazlitt,  William,  367,  374. 
Hemans,  Felicia  Dorothea,  368. 
Herbert,  George,  153. 
Herrick,  Robert,  153;  quoted,  164. 
History,   in    Age   of   Johnson,   281;    in 

Victorian  Age,  484. 
Hobbes,  Thomas,  195. 
Hood,  Thomas,  368. 
Hooker,  Richard,  67  ;  sketch  of,  90-92. 
Howard,   Henry,    Earl    of    Surrey,   67; 

sketch  of,  81-83. 
Hudson,  Henry,  quoted  on  Shakespeare, 

141. 
Hume,    David,  273,   281-283;  "History 

of  England,"  282. 
Hunt,  Leigh,  367. 
Huxley,  Thomas  Henry,  476. 
Hyde,  Edward,  Earl  of  Clarendon,  153, 

161. 

Independents,  character  of,  158. 
Indo-European  group  of  languages,  20. 
Inventions,   71,   72;    of   Victorian   Age, 

478. 
Italy,    influence    on    English    literature, 

39>  81,  83. 

Jeffrey,  Francis,  367, 374 ;  on  Byron,  400; 
on  Wordsworth,  422. 

Johnson,  Dr.  Samuel,  quoted,  163; 
sketch  of,  288-301 ;  intimate  knowl- 
edge of,  28S ;  peculiarities,  288 ;  in 
conversation,  289;  on  friendship,  289; 
his  prejudices,  290;  birth  and  educa- 
tion, 290 ;  marriage,  291 ;  trials  in 
London,  291;  as  a  reporter,  292; 
"London,"   292;   "Dictionary,"    293; 


694 


INDEX. 


and  Chesterfield,  294;  "Vanity  of 
Human  Wishes,"  295;  "Irene,"  295; 
Rambler,  296;  style  and  aim,  296; 
"  Rasselas,"  297  ;  pensioned,  297  ;  The 
Club,  298  ;  views  of  "  Ossian,"  298 ; 
"  Journey  to  Hebrides,"  298  ;  "  Lives 
of  the  Poets,"  299;  death,  300. 
Jonson,  Ben,  68;  sketch  of,  101-103; 
on  Bacon's  oratory,  124;  tribute  to 
Shakespeare,  140. 

Keats,  John,  368,  377,  378. 
Keble,  John,  369. 
Kingsley,  Charles,  473. 

Lamb,  Charles,  367,  375 ;  on  Coleridge, 
426. 

Landor,  Walter' Savage,  369. 

Lang,  Andrew,  474. 

Langland,  31;  "Piers  the  Plowman," 
46 ;  Marsh  on,  47. 

Latitudinarians,  200. 

Layamon's  "  Brut,"  31,  41. 

Lecky,  W.  E.  H.,  475. 

Literature,  in  largest  sense,  i ;  English 
literature,  2 ;  influences  determining,  2 ; 
literature  in  narrower  sense,  4;  classic 
literature,  5  ;  as  a  social  force,  5 ;  liter- 
ary taste,  6;  periods  of  English,  6. 

Locke,  John,  195,  206. 

Lockhart,  John  Gibson,  367,375. 

Louis  XIV.  and  literature,  198. 

Lowell,  James  Russell,  quoted,  97 ;  on 
Pope,  257. 

Lyly,  John,  67,  87. 

Lytton,  Lord,  (Owen  Meredith),  474. 

Macaulay,  Thomas  Babington,  quoted^ 
170;  sketch  of,  488-503;  popularity, 
488 ;  birth  and  parentage,  489 ;  childish 
precocity,  489;  at  Cambridge,  489, 
490  ;  earliest  publications,  490 ;  "  Essay 
on  Milton,"  491 ;  great  as  a  man,  491; 
in  Parliament,  492;  in  India,  492; 
learns  German,  493;  visits  Italy,  493, 
494 ;  Secretary  of  War,  494  ;  "  Essays," 
495;  style,  495;  a  partisan,  496;  ex- 
tracts, 497;  "  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome," 
499 ;  as  a  historian,  500 ;  theory  of  his- 
tory, 501 ;  "  History  of  England,"  501 ; 
last  years,  502. 


Macpherson,    James,    his    "  Poems    of 
Ossian,"  285  ;  Johnson's  letter  to,  298. 
Manning,  Robert,  31,  43. 
Marlowe,  Christopher,  68,  99,  loi. 
Marryat,  Frederick,  473. 
Massinger,  Philip,  68,  loi. 
McCarthy,   quoted,  478 ;  on   Macaulay, 

503- 

Metaphysical  poets,  162;  Dr.  Johnson 
on,  163. 

Methodism,  rise  of,  204. 

Middle  English  Period,  33. 

Mill,  John  Stuart,  476. 

Miller,  Hugh,  476. 

Milman,  Henry  Hart,  475. 

Milton,  John,  quoted  on  books,  5  ;  sketch 
of,  167-180;  greatness  of,  167;  paren- 
tage, 167;  educational  reformer,  168; 
declines  to  take  orders,  169 ;  at  Horton, 
169  ;  "  Comus,"  "  L'Allegro,"  "  II  Pen- 
seroso,"  169,  170;  "  Lycidas,"  170;  his 
travels,  171 ;  premonitions  of  fame, 
172;  private  school,  172  ;  various  con- 
troversial writings,  173  ;  marriage,  174; 
"Doctrine  of  Divorce,"  174;  recon- 
ciliation, 174;  "  Areopagitica,"  and 
"  Tractate  on  Education,"  175 ;  on 
language  study,  176;  Cromwell's  sec- 
retary, 177  ;  "  Defensio,"  177 ;  blind- 
ness, 178 ;  "  Paradise  Lost,"  179 ; 
"  Paradise  Regained,"  and  "  Samson 
Agonistes,"  180;  death,  character,  180. 

Miracle  plays,  98. 

Mitford,  William,  375. 

Moore,  Thomas,  368,  380-382. 

Moralities,  98. 

More,  Hannah,  368. 

More,  Sir  Thomas,  67,  80. 

Morris,  William,  474. 

Newspapers,  rise  of,  277. 
Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  195. 
Normans,  33;    character,  34;    coalesce 
with  Anglo-Saxons,  35. 

Oratory,  in  Age  of  Johnson,  279. 
Ormin,  his  "  Ormulum,"45,  46. 

Paris,  Matthew,  31. 

Pepys,  Samuel,  195,  206. 

Percy,  Thomas,  274;  "  Reliques,"  285. 


INDEX. 


695 


Periodicals,  become  important,  215; 
newspapers,  277  ;  reviews,  374,  480. 

Periods,  literary,  not  sharply  defined,  372. 

Petrarch,  39. 

"  Piers  the  Plowman,"  Langland's,  46, 47. 

Poetry,  first  literature  of  a  people,  21 ; 
Anglo-Saxon,  22;  change  of  tone,  286; 
nature  in,  286,  287 ;  in  Victorian  Age, 
486. 

Pope,  Alexander,  influenced  by  France, 
199  ;  extract  from  "  Rape  of  the  Lock," 
203 ;  sketch  of,  240-257  ;  character  and 
genius,  240;  childhood,  240;  reading, 
241 ;  precocity,  241 ;  and  Dryden,  242  ; 
and  Trumbull,  242;  and  Walsh,  242; 
Wycherly,  243;  "  Essay  on  Criticism," 
243-245  ;  and  Dennis,  245  ;  "  Rape  of 
the  Lock,"  246 ;  "  Iliad,"  247;  "Odys- 
sey," 248  ;  quarrel  with  Addison,  248, 
249;  at  Twickenham,  249;  filial  affec- 
tion, 250;  "  Dunciad,"  250-252; 
Thackeray's  critique,  252 ;  "  Essay  on 
Man,"  252-254;  death,  255;  character- 
istics, 255-257  ;  as  a  poet,  257 ;  Lowell's 
estimate,  257. 

Porter,  Jane,  368,  376. 

Puritanistn,  and  literature,  159,  160;  ex- 
treme, 197. 

Quarles,  Francis,  153;  quoted,  164. 
Queen  Anne,  ascends  throne,  201. 

Race,  influence  of,  on  literature,  2,  3. 

Radcliffe,  Ann,  367,  376. 

Raleigh,  Sir  Walter,  67 ;  sketch  of,  92- 
96,  107. 

Raumer,  quoted  on  Bacon,  134. 

Reade,  Charles,  473. 

Realism,  485. 

Reformation,  the,  72,  73. 

Religion  and  literature,  44,  159,  160. 

Restoration,  the,  moral  effects,  198 ; 
and  science,  199;  Green  on,  200. 

Revival  of  learning,  70,  71. 

Revolution,  the,  200,  202;  French,  373. 

Richardson,  Samuel,  196,  208. 

Robert  of  Gloucester,  "  Rhyming  Chroni- 
cles," 31,  43. 

Robertson,  William,  273,  283,  284. 

Robin  Hood,  70;  ballads,  40,  70.      ^ 

Rogers,  Samuel,  369. 


Romanticism,  rise  of,  284;  new,  486. 

Roscoe,  quoted  on  "  Rape  of  the  Lock," 
247. 

Rossetti,  Dante  Gabriel,  474. 

Royalists,  157. 

Ruskin,  John,  sketch  of,  656-670;  varied 
spheres,  656 ;  and  Carlyle,  656 ;  birth 
and  parentage,  657 ;  childhood,  658 ; 
thirst  of  authorship,  659;  interest  in 
art,  659;  love  of  mountains,  660 ;  wor- 
shipper of  nature,  660 ;  at  Oxford,  661 ; 
"  Poetry  of  Architecture,"  662;  "Mod- 
ern Painters,"  663 ;  manner  of  writing, 
664;  marriage,  664;  "Seven  Lamps," 
664 ;  "  Pre-Raphaelitism,"  665 ;  "Stones 
of  Venice,"  665 ;  popular  lectures,  666; 
"  Unto  this  Last,"  666;  "Sesame  and 
Lilies,"  667;  "  Crown  of  Wild  Olives," 
667;  "Time  and  Tide,"  667;  educa- 
tional reformer,  668 ;  Professor  of  Fine 
Arts  at  Oxford,  668 ;  at  Brantwood, 
669 ;  as  a  critic,  669 ;  eccentricity,  669 ; 
rank,  670. 

Sackville,  Thomas,  Earl  of  Dorset,  67, 97. 

Schools,  cathedral  and  monastic,  37. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  sketch  of,  383-396; 
prominence,  383  ;  ancestry,  383;  child- 
hood, 384;  at  the  university,  385;  as 
a  lawyer,  385 ;  early  romance,  386 ; 
marriage,  387;  "Minstrelsy  of  the 
Scottish  Border,"  387  ;  Carlyle  on,  387  ; 
"  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  "  Mar- 
mion,"  "  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  388,  389; 
method  of  work,  390 ;  Abbotsford,  390 ; 
as  host,  390;  tree-planting,  391:  pub- 
lishing house,  391 ;  "  Waverley,"  392; 
other  romances,  392;  romanticist,  393; 
wrote  rapidly,  393 ;  character  of  Wa- 
verley novels,  394;  style,  394;  effort  to 
meet  obligations,  395  ;  last  days,  396. 

Shakespeare,  W'illiam,  sketch  of,  136- 
150;  preeminence,  136;  meagre  de- 
tails, 136 ;  parentage,  137 ;  education, 
137;  marriage,  137;  in  London,  138; 
as  actor,  138;  "Venus  and  Adonis," 
139  ;  Spenser's  tribute,  139 ;  growing 
wealth,  139;  social  life,  139,  140;  Jon- 
son's  tribute,  140;  dissatisfied  with 
actor's  life,  140;  retires  to  Stratford, 
141 ;   death,  141 ;    Hudson's  estimate. 


696 


INDEX. 


141;  rich  inner  life,  142;  sanity,  143; 
development  of  his  genius,  143,  144; 
hidden  personality,  144 ;  knowledge  of 
dramatic  art,  145 ;  enriched  borrowed 
materials,  146 ;  historical  plays,  146 ; 
acquaintance  with  human  nature,  146; 
noble  types  of  men  and  women,  147 ; 
style  and  diction,  147;  voices  human 
experience,  148,  149;  his  influence, 
149;  on  the  Continent,  150;  enduring 
fame,  150;  addendum  on  drama,  151, 
152. 

Shelley,  Percy  Bysshe,  sketch  of,  442- 
458  ;  growing  fame,  442 ;  sad  life,  442 ; 
childhood,  443;  at  Eton,  443;  at  Ox- 
ford, 444;  appearance  and  character, 
445 ;  "  Posthumous  Fragments,"  445 ; 
"  Necessity  of  Atheism,"  446;  in  Lon- 
don, 446;  marriage,  447;  migratory 
life,  447 ;  "  Queen  Mab,"  447,  448  ;  op- 
timist, 449;  elopement,  449;  "  Alastor," 
450;  suicide  of  his  wife,  451 ;  "  Revolt 
of  Islam,"  451 ;  manner  of  life,  452 ; 
in  Italy,  452;  "Julian  and  Maddalo," 
453  ;  various  works,  453 ;  "  The  Cenci," 
455;  "Cloud,"  455;  "Defence  of 
Poetry,"  456;  "Adonais,"  456; 
drowned,  457 ;  as  a  poet,  457 ;  as  a 
reformer,  458. 

Shenstone,  William,  274. 

Sheridan,  Richard  Brinsley,  273. 

Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  67,  88-90. 

Smith,  Adam,  274. 

Southey,  Robert,  368,  378,  379. 

Spencer,  Herbert,  476. 

Spenser,  Edmund,  sketch  of,  104-116; 
first  great  writer  of  Creative  Period, 
104;  meagre  details,  104;  education, 
105;  "Shepherd's  Calendar,"  105;  in 
London  and  Ireland,  106;  visited  by 
Raleigh,  107;  "Colin  Clout's  Come 
Home  Again,"  107;  "Mother  Hub- 
bard's Tale,"  108;  "Faery  Queene," 
109 ;  marriage,  109  ;  "  View  of  the  State 
of  Ireland,"  no;  Kilcolman  Castle 
burned,  in;  characterization,  in; 
Spenserian  stanza,  112 ;  plan  of  "  Faery 
Queene,"  113-117;  critique,  117,  118; 
tribute  to  Shakespeare,  139. 

Stevenson,  Robert  Louis,  473. 

Stewart,  Dugald,  quoted,  128. 


Swift,  Jonathan,  sketch  of,  258-271 ; 
as  a  writer,  258 ;  as  a  man,  258  ;  birth 
and  education,  259 ;  at  college,  259 ; 
at  Temple's,  260;  "Battle  of  Books," 
260 ;  at  Laracor,  261 ;  sermons,  261 ; 
imperious  temper,  262;  satirical  gift, 
262;  "  Tale  of  a  Tub,"  263 ;  in  London, 
264;  "Journal  to  Stella,"  265;  rela- 
tions to  women,  265;  secret  marriage, 
266;  "  Drapier  Letters,"  267;  "Gulli- 
ver's Travels,"  267;  "Thoughts  on 
Various  Subjects,"  268;  style,  269; 
eccentricities,  269 ;  friendships  and 
hatreds,  270;  insanity  and  death,  270; 
characterization,  271. 

Swinburne,  Algernon  Charles,  474. 

Taillefer,  anecdote  of,  38. 

Taine,  quoted,  160. 

Taste,  literary,  6. 

Taylor,  Jeremy,  153,  160. 

Temple,  Sir  William,  196;  Swift  with, 
260. 

Tennyson,  Alfred,  visit  to  Brownings, 
580 ;  sketch  of,  603-621 ;  preeminence, 
603 ;  fortunate  life,  603 ;  birth  and 
parentage,  604 ;  at  Cambridge,  604 ; 
"Poems,  Chiefly  Lyrical,"  605;  con- 
ception of  poetic  character,  606 ; 
volume  of  '32,  606;  a  fundamental 
principle,  607 ;  interim  of  study,  608 ; 
in  London,  609 ;  volume  of  '42,  610- 
612;  character  of  his  poetry,  612; 
"Princess,"  613;  conservative  sym- 
pathies, 613;  "In  Memoriam,"  614- 
616;  marriage,  616;  various  homes, 
617 ;  "  Maude,  and  Other  Poems,"  617 ; 
"  Idyls  of  the  King,"  61S-620;  "  Enoch 
Arden,"  620 ;  "  Crossing  the  Bar,"  620 ; 
enduring  fame,  621. 

Thackeray,  William  Makepeace,  tribute 
to  Addison,  239;  estimate  of  Gold- 
smith, 314;  of  Charlotte  Bronte, 
517;  sketch  of,  5x9-534;  parallel  with 
Dickens,  519;  birth  and  parentage, 
519;  at  Charter  House,  520;  at  Cam- 
bridge, 520 ;  classic  style,  521 ;  at 
Weimar,  521 ;  studies  law,  521 ;  loses 
his  fortune,  522 ;  "  Memoirs  of  Yellow- 
plush, "523';  "Catherine,"  523 ;  "Great 
Hoggarty  Diamond,"  523 ;  other  writ- 


INDEX. 


697 


ings,  524;  marriage,  524;  "Lucky 
Speculator,"  525 ;  "  Novels  by  Emi- 
nent Hands,"  525  ;  "  Boole  of  Snobs," 
526;  "Vanity  Fair,"  526-528;  "  Pen- 
dennis,"  528  ;  not  a  cynic,  529  ;  "  Henry 
Esmond,"  530;  other  novels,  531; 
"  English  Humorists,"  531 ;  in  America, 
532 ;  as  a  poet,  532 ;  editor  of  Cornh'ill 
Magazine,  533  ;  death,  534. 

Theatres,  first  English,  99,  100. 

Thirlwall,  Connop,  475. 

Thomson,  James,  196,  211,  212. 

Tillotson,  John,  195. 

Trollope,  Anthony,  473. 

Troubadour  poetry,  40. 

Trouvere  poetry,  37. 

Universities,  the  oldest,  37. 

"  Utopia,"  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  80. 

Victorian  Age,  grandeur  of,  477 ;  age  of 
inventions,  478  ;  science,  479 ;  practi- 
cal, 479;  educational  advancement, 
480;  political  progress,  481;  social 
progress,  481 ;  religious  advancement, 
482 ;  favorable  to  literature,  483. 

Waller,  Edmund,  153,  164. 
Walpole,  Horace,  274,  285. 


Walton,  Izaak,  153,  162. 

Warton,  Thomas,  274,  285. 

Watson,  William,  474. 

Webster,  John,  68. 

Whately,  Archbishop,  quoted,  127. 

William  of  Malmesbury,  31. 

Wilson,  John,  367. 

Women  in  literature,  375. 

Wordsworth,  William,  sketch  of,  410- 
424;  parallel  with  Byron,  410;  child- 
hood, 411;  influence  of  nature,  411; 
without  vocation,  412;  in  France,  412; 
fortunate  life,  413 ;  "  Lyrical  Ballads," 
413-415 ;  in  Germany,  415  ;  "  Prelude  " 
and  other  poems,  415  ;  famous  preface, 
416;  life  in  Lake  District  and  marriage, 
417;  death  of  his  brother,  418;  "The 
Happy  Warrior,"  419 ;  "  The  Rain- 
bow," 420;  "Ode  on  Immortality," 
420,  421 ;  at  Rydal  Mount,  421 ;  "  Ex- 
cursion," 422;  confidence  in  himself, 
422;  death,  423;  character,  423;  love 
of  nature,  423,  424. 

Wyat,  Sir  Thomas,  67,  83,  84. 

Wycherly,  William,  196;  and  Pope, 
242. 

Wycliffe,  John,  31,  44,  45. 

Young,  Edward,  196,  212-214. 


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Arnold  —  Sohrab  and  Rustum 25 

Bates  —  Ballad  Book !       60 

Burke  —  Speech  on  Concihation  with  America    .        .  .25 

Carlyle  —  The  Diamond  Necklace     ......      [35 

Essay  on  Burns ^25 

Coleridge  — The  Ancient  Mariner ^25 

Cooper— The  Last  of  the  Mohicans  .        .        .        !        .      .'50 

De  Quincey  — The  Revolt  of  the  Tartars         ....      !35 
Dryden,  Burns,  Wordsworth,  and  Browning— Selections     .35 

Dryden  —  Palamon  and  Arcite 35 

Eliot  — Silas  Marner !      !35 

Goldsmith  —  The  Traveller  and  the  Deserted  Villag-e        .      ^25 
The  Vicar  of  Wakefield        .        .        .        .        !      .35 

Irving  — Isaac  Thomas's  Selections  from 50 

Johnson  —  Rasselas 35 

Lamb  — The  Essays  of  Elia,  Selections .35 

Longfellow  —  Evangeline 35 

Lowell  —  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal,  and  other  selections       .25 
Macaulay  — Essay  on  Lord  Clive       .  .        .  .      .35 

Essays  on  Milton  and  Addison  .....      .35 

Second  Essay  on  the  Earl  of  Chatham     .        .      .35 

Life  of  Samuel  Johnson 25 

Milton — Minor  Poems 25 

Paradise  Lost,  Books  I.  and  II 35 

Ruskin  — Introduction  to  the  Writings  of  (Scudder)  .50 

Scott  — The  Lady  of  the  Lake 35 

Marmion 35 

Shakespeare  — A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream      ...      .35 

Macbeth 35 

As  You  Like  It 35 

The  Merchant  of  Venice 35 

Tennyson  —  Elaine 25 

The  Princess 35 

Webster— First  Bunker  Hill  Oration ^25 


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